Georgia Rain
by kclaura2003
Summary: When Daryl and Grace go on a hunting expedition together they get caught in tornado and are forced to find shelter in a storm cellar. Does the Georgia rain make love blossom? Rated T for some language and sensuality. Daryl/OC. Completed 4/1/13.
1. Storm Clouds

**Hey, y'all! This is my first fanfic for The Walking Dead. I just started watching the show only a few months ago so I apologize if I don't characterize Daryl correctly. I appreciate any feedback and let me know what you think about the OC. Thanks for reading! Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

Chapter One: Storm Clouds

As she followed behind Daryl Dixon, matching his quiet, calculated steps to her own, Grace Montgomery didn't know which was thicker: the sultry summer air or the awkward silence and tension between the two of them.

They had stealthily walked about fifteen miles away from the prison on a hunting expedition. He was armed with his beloved crossbow in his arms and in his backpack, she was certain, a sawed-off double twelve gauge pump shotgun. She carried an array of hunting knives, large and small, on her holster and a .38 revolver. Grace always had one hand on her belt, ready to rapidly propel the knives, if needed, at anything suspicious that moved - alive or dead. She would glance over her shoulder every now and then to make sure they weren't being followed by any walkers.

The sky in the northeast, the direction they had been walking, was becoming overcast. Grace felt an urgency inside her, that they should hurry up and catch something, anything edible to bring back to the group, before the rain started. However, Daryl was positive they were right on the trail of a doe.

As she followed him, Grace curiously studied the back of Daryl. The wings on his vest, his beige pants, tattered and stained with fresh mud and caked on dirt. She watched him move so patiently, almost painstakingly, among the brush. Grace had thought she had seen and known a hunter before, her late father, but even he didn't quite match up to Daryl's fervency for the sport.

Grace didn't realize how intently she had been staring at him until Daryl came to an abrupt crouch and stiffly raised his left arm up, hand balled into a fist, signaling her to cease walking. It happened so swiftly Grace didn't react quickly enough and slightly bumped into Daryl. He shot her an annoyed glance and pulled roughly on her shirt, hard enough that she heard some threads break, and he made her squat down beside him.

"Shhh…" Daryl hoarsely whispered. "She's right o'er there."

Grace lowered herself as far to the ground as she could. She strained her neck looking but couldn't see anything through the thicket.

"Keep watchin' our backs," he whispered as he released the safety on the crossbow and assumed firing position. Grace glanced behind her. Nothing but dense woods. They had only encountered a couple of walkers along the way and easily put them down. This particular area seemed to be pretty desolate. She put a tight grip on one of her knifes.

When Grace turned her head back around, she saw the doe and almost gasped out loud but luckily caught herself. It was about less than ten yards from them. She was sleek and slender, a beautiful light brown color. The doe was sniffing around and suddenly she snapped her head up and it was like she was looking straight at Daryl and Grace with her enormous dark eyes, yet she made no movement. It seemed like a staring contest between all three of them.

Out of Grace's peripheral vision she saw Daryl tightening his grip on the crossbow, finger on the trigger. With a simple tap of the trigger, a bolt was released and the arrow made the sickening sticking sound when it penetrated its target. The doe jumped and skittered up debris, in a mad dash, to hightail it out of sight. Before the doe completely escaped Grace propelled one of her knifes and again, there was another sticking sound. The doe ran panicky down the thicket.

"_Nice_…," Daryl muttered, but Grace knew it was more of a compliment to himself than to her.

As they both carefully stood up Grace watched Daryl's expression go from pleased to _Oh, yeah, I forgot you were with me…_when he looked over in her direction.

"Good job," Grace commented as she brushed the debris off her pants.

Daryl gave her, what she thought was meant to be a smug grin, but looked more like scowl.

"C'mon, let's git this show on the road." He drawled and he slug his crossbow over his shoulder. "Ain't got all day. Looks like mama nature is about to piss all o'er us." He nodded toward the darkening rain clouds above.

They walked toward the way the deer had run off to. Daryl mumbled something about "she probably didn't run very far" but Grace wasn't listening. Instead she was wrinkling up her brow, trying to figure out why this guy didn't seem to like her very much. If they were back at the prison, Rick would reassure her that Daryl Dixon didn't seem to like _anybody_ very much. Andrea, when she was still with them, had once told her that he was "about as comforting as a prickly porcupine" but "he'd give the shirt off his back and walk barefoot across burning coals for those he cares about," according to Carol. She had also added with a wink, "He'd never admit that, though."

Grace had been with this group for about a month now. She had met Daryl's group, led by a former police officer named Rick Grimes, in a survivor's camp site just on the outskirts of Atlanta. Grace had been there with the only family she had left, her brother Johnny, who had recently finished his four year stint in the Navy. When the outbreak began, Grace and Johnny left their small rural town and went to Atlanta thinking there would be strength in numbers; that they would find help and above all, an explanation for what was happening to the world. They found the exact opposite, the major metropolis had already fallen to these…virally infected dead people that feed off of live human flesh. Grace and Johnny joined a band of survivors, a group of about ten people, and set up camp. It had been only a few days later when Rick's group had intersected with Grace and Johnny's group.

Things went smoothly for awhile and Grace naively began to think everything was going to be OK after all. Until, in the middle of the night, the walking dead people came from the woods, growling and moaning, sinking their teeth into their sleeping victims. Chaos ensued; screams, gunshots, and cursing filled the night air until all roamers had been put down. There were several causalities, including Johnny. Grace preferred not to think about her brother's final moments, his stomach torn open, his eyes bugged out and gasping for breath. He had given her the .38 revolver and after telling her he loved her, he asked her to do the unthinkable.

She shook her head at the horrible memory, in an attempt to rid herself of it despite knowing she never, ever could. Grace and Daryl approached to where the doe lay, deceased, on the forest floor. She spotted Daryl's bolt in the abdomen of the deer and her knife lodged its neck.

Daryl placed one foot on top of the doe and carefully pulled the arrow out of her, retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped it clean. Grace tugged on her knife, the blade had really stuck the animal good. Daryl wordlessly offered his cloth to Grace.

As she wiped the blade she watched him pick up the doe.

"Need any help?" Grace asked, dying to make herself useful. She knew Daryl didn't want her to come along, probably thought she was dead weight.

"Here," Daryl said, thrusting his crossbow toward her. "Put this on yer shoulder." At first Grace struggled with the weight of her backpack and the crossbow and when she saw Daryl's blue eyes flashing, a warning, that she better not tear up his favorite weapon, she felt her cheeks flush and her heart drop. It was like she couldn't do anything right according to this man.

The clouds above were closing in and darkening by the minute. Grace felt a sprinkle or two land on her arm. Daryl had the doe slung around his neck, his calloused hands gripping her hooves.

"Let's roll." He told her. "Git in front of me and step on it, girl. Don't wanna be stuck out here in da rain wit a dead deer 'round my neck."

They made good time, retracing their tracks, finding their way back home. Grace could hear Daryl's steady breathing behind her but she heard something else. Thunder rumbled in the distance and something scurried through the brush, a squirrel or a rabbit dodging out of sight.

A low growl seem to come from Grace's right side. A lone female walker appeared from the brush, moaning and snarling toward them. Grace's stomach twisted in a knot when she saw her- she looked to have been about Grace's age and once young and pretty. Her left shoulder was torn open and there was a huge gash extending down the right side of her face. She snarled viciously at them and Grace quickly drew her knife and propelled it - sticking the dead girl right in the forehead. The walker seem to pause for a brief second and with one last growl, crumpled to the ground.

"Aw, shit…" Grace heard Daryl say from behind. She turned and saw about four more walkers gaining on them.

"Gimme the bow!" he commanded as he dropped the deer from his neck. He didn't need to tell her twice. She tossed it to him without missing a beat and she again drew another knife. Daryl had the crossbow locked and loaded in a blink of eye and was firing bolts at their heads. A another growl came from behind Grace. She turned to see, what used to be a man - black, possibly was in his mid-thirties when he died - shambling at her. He stared at her with those sickly yellowish green eyes, blood dripping from his mouth, hell bent on making her his next meal.

Grace threw the knife, however, it only caught his shoulder blade. The dead man growled angrily and charged at her. Before she knew it she was wrestling the walker on the forest floor, his bloody mouth snapping wildly, trying to sink his teeth into any part of her he could.

"Daryl!" Grace cried, but she knew he was tied up with other roamers that had appeared on the scene, drawn by all the commotion.

"Hang on!" He called back.

He finished off the last walker that had ganged up on him, turned and fired a bolt at the dead man that Grace was struggling with. It went straight through his head and Grace found herself looking square into the face of this corpse with an arrow stuck through him.

She pushed him off of her and retrieved her knife from his shoulder. Daryl strolled over to her, cautiously.

"You bit?" He demanded to know. He had the crossbow aimed at her and she knew he wouldn't hesitate to use it if anybody around him became infected.

She checked her hands, arms, torso and legs. She ran one hand down her neck to feel for any marks.

"No." She concluded, breathlessly. Daryl lowered the crossbow in relief. He turned back toward where he had dropped the deer.

"Goddamn it!" He cried.

Grace glanced around him to see that one of the walkers had apparently chewed on the doe. It was no longer safe to consume. The time they had spent tracking her was now rendered to be in vain.

Daryl angrily kicked up forest debris as he stormed over to where one of the walkers lay. He jerked out his arrow and kicked the corpse repeatedly.

"Son…" Kick. "Of…" Another kick. "A bitch!" Grace flinched as she watched Daryl smash in the walker's face with his boot. He stood there over it, glaring down at it, and then snapped his head up and looked her direction. Grace still sat on the forest floor, in shock and in awe of everything that just happened.

Daryl motioned for her to get up. "C'mon, let's git! I'm tired of this shit…they can go out and look for food tomorrow." He was referring to the others back at the prison. Grace wished she had some telepathic ability to warn the group that Daryl was not going to be in a chipper mood when they returned.

They retrieved all their weapons from the corpses, grabbed up their supplies and headed home. Thundered rolled again this time closer.


	2. Stillness

Chapter Two: Stillness

At first the rain came down in slow, steady drops. Grace thought maybe it wouldn't be a big rain but that thought was instantly put to rest when big, fat raindrops began hitting the red Georgia clay underneath her feet.

The rain bounced off Grace's and Daryl's head, shoulders, and back, the damping process beginning. Suddenly, with a flash of lightening and angry boom of thunder, the rain dumped down on them instantly soaking them. It was like God had decided to turn on the faucet full blast.

Grace looked around the wet woods and stopped abruptly in her tracks. Her gut was telling her something wasn't right. She didn't recall any of this terrain.

"Daryl, wait." Grace called out.

He stopped and turned. "What's the hold up?"

"This…" She began, as she waved one arm, indicating where they stood. "This isn't right. We didn't come this way."

Daryl looked around and wrinkled his brow. He looked back over to her with his eyes narrowed. He pulled out a compass from his pocket and stared at it for a long time. She walked over to where he stood and looked down at it. It read they had been walking southeast this whole time while the prison was southwest of where they were.

"Oh, hell. This is just perfect!" Daryl complained.

"Should we stop and ask for directions?" Grace joked, a little gender humor.

He looked at her like she was crazy.

"I was kidding, jeez…" Grace shrugged. So much for making light of the situation.

"Oh, yeah. That's what we really got time for - jokes." He replied sarcastically. "In the mean time, we'll just stay out here gettin' our asses soaked to the bone."

Grace let out a sigh and it came out a little louder than she intended. Daryl shot her a look.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He asked defensively.

"What's _what_ supposed to mean?" She asked.

Daryl did an exaggerated imitation of her sigh.

"Oh, it was nothing." Grace waved him off. "Let's just go, OK?"

They continued walking through the storm. It was becoming severe. Lightening cracked across the sky and the gusty winds blew the heavy rain sideways at them. Soon dime size hail began dropping.

They reached an opening from out of the woods but it was still nowhere where they had come from. Across the open field there was an old barn in the distance and beyond on that there was what looked to be like a church steeple.

"We gotta get over there and ride this out." Grace said as she turned to face Daryl.

He shook his head no. "We don't know what or who's in there."

"Well, we can't stay out here being pelted by hail can we?" She argued. And almost as if on cue the hail stopped and the rain let up. It was as if the storm stopped as abruptly as it began.

A massive wall cloud dominated over the field. It was changing from a dark gray to a pale green. The winds had ceased blowing. An eerie stillness settled crept over the landscape and over Grace and Daryl. They looked at each other and needed to speak no words. They knew what it meant. They needed to find shelter - and fast.


	3. Shelter

Chapter Three: Shelter

Grace and Daryl made their way down the steep slope as quickly as possible all the while trying not to stumble under the weight of their weapons and backpacks. The wall cloud began shaping itself into a funnel. The tornado would soon touchdown.

They hustled through the dead field, most likely a former cotton crop, but long abandoned. Their hurried footsteps crunched the dead thorny stems as they ran to reach the old barn. It looked as if it had been constructed at least fifty years ago and as they approached, Grace had sudden doubts about taking cover inside of it. The tornado aside, the barn looked as if a single breath could blow the place down. She was even more concerned when she saw the wooden doors looked less than stable - one of them barely hanging on by a rusty hinge.

"I don't think the barn is safe," Grace called to Daryl. He was in front of her almost to the barn. The rain and thunder started again, heavier than before. Before they knew it, two walkers peeked out from around the old doors, stirred from the noise of the storm and from the fresh meat they saw in front of them. They growled and began coming toward Grace and Daryl.

Daryl took his crossbow and fired bolts at each one. Soon, more walkers appeared, creeping slowly out of the barn, first one, then another, soon there was about four or five snarling at them with those putrid faces and sickly yellow eyes.

"We ain't got time for this shit!" Daryl exclaimed. He began firing bolts as quickly as he could. More walkers appeared, there was no telling how many of them were in the barn. It was as if the two survivors had stepped on an ant hill and now hundreds of a little ants scurried everywhere. Only these weren't ants. They were walking dead people.

Grace began hurling her knifes, smoothly but in a rapid motion, one right after the other - sticking the corpses in their foreheads right on contact.

Over her shoulder, Grace could tell the tornado had indeed touchdown, it seemed to be moving at reasonable rate, possibly could be a F1. As she threw her last knife and stuck an incoming walker, she mentally agreed with Daryl. There was no time to deal with this.

"We gotta move, Daryl!" She cried to him. She could tell he was running out of bolts, and was going to resort either to his knifes or his sawed off twelve gauge but she wasn't going to let him. She grabbed him by the arm and pulled as hard as she could.

"Let's go!"

He shook her off, wanting to finish off of the walkers.

"We can take 'em!" He cried. "Get yer pistol out, now!"

Grace's hand instantly went to the holster. She almost pulled it out but hesitated. It had been Johnny's gun. She only used it in real emergencies, and even in the middle of those, she didn't like to use it. Every time she looked at it, she remembered what she had to do with it last.

"Come on!" She pulled on his arm and practically dragged him away as he fired his last bolt. They took off running around the barn, down a few feet to where the church was.

It looked like a picture perfect country church, small and white, stained glass windows, and long slender steeple with a bell inside it. It briefly made Grace think of home, her own small town church, way before any of this craziness starting happening.

"What's wrong wit ya?!" Daryl was screaming at her from behind. "I told ya to pull out that gun of yers!"

Grace glanced behind her. There were walkers following them but it was the tornado she was more concerned about. She didn't feel like standing out there arguing with this hot-headed hillbilly anymore.

"If you wanna stay out here in this twister and fight 'em - be my guest!" She cried. She pointed toward the church. "I know I can outrun a walker but I don't know if I can outrun a tornado and I really don't want to find out!"

She took off running around the corner of the church without waiting for a response. Debris was flying every which way. The church was just like her old one back home, she was certain of it. There had to be a storm shelter somewhere along the back of it.

As she turned the corner, Grace felt something jerk her, an arm pulling on her hard. She screamed, fearing it was a walker but when she turned around, Daryl was in her face.

"How ya know this place ain't crawlin' with them walkers too?!" He demanded. "Where exactly do ya think ya goin'?!"

Grace shook him off, although not as easily as he had shook her off earlier.

"There's an underground storm shelter!" She exclaimed as she turned the last corner. There it was - a trap steel door in the ground. She ran over to it, saw the padlock, ignored it, thinking somehow, maybe the thing wasn't locked after all and pulled on the handle repeatedly as hard as she could but the door wouldn't give.

Daryl marched over, looking like a madman - drenched in rain, mud, and walker blood.

"Gimme yer pistol." His command came out a lot smoother and calmer than she expected and it actually took Grace by surprise. She looked at him in bewilderment.

"Gimme yer pistol, now." He repeated slowly, edge to his voice, eyes narrowing. "Or, I swear to God, girl, I'll throw ya to them walkers or in the twister - which ever one gits here first."

He stuck out his hand. Grace unhooked the gun from the holster and reluctantly gave it to him.

"Stand back," Daryl ordered.

Grace moved quickly behind him as he took one shot and blew off the padlock. He flung open the steel door in a single motion. Two walkers rounded the corner, snarling. Daryl pushed Grace down into the deep pitch-black hole as he turned and fired at them. Several more rounded the corner and he fired the last three shots in the cylinder before he dunked down and slammed the steel door shut just as the remaining walkers reached for him.


	4. War of Words

Chapter Four: War of Words

Although they were enveloped in pitch-black darkness, Grace could still picture the walkers outside, their gruttal growls incessant as they clawed on the door. She envisioned the tornado getting even closer now - it sounded like freight train would pass over them any second.

"Git o'er here and hold down this handle while I git somethin' to bar this here door." Daryl told Grace.

She could only see his silhouette in the dark. She traded places with him while he frantically ram-sacked his backpack, producing a tiny flashlight. The bright LED light came out of nowhere, momentarily blinding Grace, but mostly taking her by surprise. She watched him in the small, yet bright, beam of light as he looked around the cellar for anything useful.

Grace had a death grip on the door handle, with both hands, and she was certain her knuckles were turning white but she felt if she were to let up even for a second the door would fly open and either the walkers or the tornado would claim them as their own.

"Let go and step back," Daryl was beside Grace now and even in the tiny source of light she could see he had found a two-by-four piece of wood and slid it in between the door handle.

"That's gonna have to do," Daryl said.

They hurried down the steps. Daryl waved the flashlight beam around looking for another light source. The beam landed on a single bulb on the ceiling with a pull chain. When Daryl pulled the chain, the bulb clicked on to reveal a surprisingly roomy storm cellar. Grace was about to take it all in but Daryl started in on her as he shucked off his crossbow and vest.

"What the hell is a' matter wit ya, girl?!" He exclaimed. Even in the dim light Grace could see his scowl, his blue eyes narrowed, mouth tight.

Grace threw up her hands in defeat. "What did I do?!" She demanded, defensively.

"What did ya do?" Daryl repeated, incredulous. "What did ya do? I'll tell ya whatcha ya did - ya gotta hearin' problem, missy?! I told ya to gimme yer pistol twice and ya just up and ignore me!"

Grace scoffed. "Oh, excuse me! I wasn't aware that when Mister Dixon says 'jump' I'm s' upposed to say: 'Yes, sir, how high?!"

"Yeah, that's right, Grace," Daryl took an intimidating step forward to her. "Ya better ask 'how high?' next time I tell ya to 'jump'. It would be in yer best interest to do so and don't fuss wit me about it."

"Or what?!" Grace challenged him. "Whatcha gonna do 'bout it, redneck?"

Daryl glared at Grace for a minute, lifted his hand to point at her, but then scoffed, dropped his arm and shook his head in disbelief. As he turned on his heel, he said:

"Ya know what? I ain't gonna do shit. I'mma gonna let ya fend fo' yo'self. How ya like them apples?"

He walked over a dark corner and Grace saw him make a swift movement but couldn't tell what he did. Soon his arms stuck out of the shadows, his hands wringing out his rain soaked sleeveless shirt. When he walked back into her view, Grace was taken aback by his shirtless physique. He wasn't a bodybuilder but he wasn't a soft body either and the farmer's tan looked pretty good on him. Grace shifted uncomfortably and adverted her eyes to floor of the cellar. She was glad the light so dim that he couldn't see how flushed her cheeks were.

"Been a shit day." Daryl was muttering to himself now as he slipped his shirt back on. "Been stalkin' for hours, scored me a nice doe but those goddamn walkers gotta hold of it, runnin' through a damn twister, another shitload of walkers, and all this wit a chick that don't know how to listen…"

That was the final straw for Grace.

"Shut up, Dixon!" She cried. "At least I wasn't the one trying to be Mister Macho out there." Grace did an exaggerated imitation of his backwoods accent. "Look at me, I'm Daryl Dixon! I fight walkers in the middle of a twister! I think I'm a bad-ass but really I'm just a dumb-ass!"

Daryl's eyes widened with anger. "Look at ya," He shot back. "Yer' a uppity princess wit cat shit in her ears. Wouldn't know common sense if it jumped up and bit ya on the ass."

Grace could feel her face burning red with rage. Her hands balled into tight fists. Tears were brimming on her eyelids but she bit her lip, trying to make herself stay strong.

"Hey, I found this place for us, didn't I?" She exclaimed, her voice cracking. She felt the tears burning her eyelids, starting to spill over. She didn't care anymore about what he thought or said. She had had enough.

"Despite of what you think, Daryl, I'm not totally useless. I can do _some_ things right, you know. And I'd appreciate it if you'd just acknowledge that."

She turned away from him and noticed a medium sized cot up against the wall of the cellar. She walked over to the cot and threw herself face down on it. A small cloud of dust particles floated up into the air. The small pillow left on the cot was yellowed and dusty smelling.

"Quit bein' such a _girl_!" Daryl barked.

Grace lifted her head and looked him square in the eyes. "_Fuck_. _You_. _Dixon_." She slammed her face down on the cot and her tears were as unleashed as the raging storm outside.


	5. I Don't Hate You

**Note: This chapter is in Daryl's POV.**

Chapter Five: I Don't Hate You

Brooke Shields. From the moment Daryl laid eyes on Grace he had been racking his mind trying to think of who she reminded him of, definitely not anyone he knew personally, but there was a vague resemblance to her that he couldn't quite put his finger on until now. The long chestnut brown hair, hazel eyes, prominent eyebrows, full lips - she had a wholesome girl-next-door look to her, even though he had never lived next to girl that looked like Grace. Now he knew. She was reminiscent of a young Brooke Shields, circa 1980.

It was at an inconvenient moment that this is what popped into his mind as Daryl stared at Grace's back, who was now turned over on her side on the cot, sobbing uncontrollably. Daryl felt a knot growing larger and larger in his stomach. He felt like shit. He hadn't meant to make her cry. He hated it when women cried; in fact, he couldn't stand it. Partly because he knew once they got started crying; they couldn't stop but mostly because he watched his mother do plenty of crying when his father was around.

Daryl was a bit floored by the way this sweet, innocent looking girl had said the F-word to him, in a such casual but harsh way. He'd never thought a four letter word like that would ever roll off of her pretty pink tongue but she had said it with such conviction that he assumed she must have been thinking about telling him "fuck you" for awhile now. And he knew he did deserve it.

Daryl walked over the cot and gingerly sat on the edge. He saw Grace's back stiffen.

"Go away," Grace blubbered. She, like him, had a Southern accent albeit her accent was more refined compared to his backwoods talk.

"Look, Gracie," Daryl sighed as he ran a hand through his damp shaggy hair. "Please don't cry."

Grace continued to sob. "What do you care? You don't like me anyway…and…I don't know why I even care that you don't like me."

Daryl shook his head no even though he knew she couldn't see him. "That ain't true. Trust me, ya know it if I didn't like ya."

This didn't nothing to comfort her; she only continued crying. "You hate me." She concluded.

"I don't hate ya, Gracie Lou." He gently shifted around and put a hand on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry I hollered at ya. Really, I am. All I meant was…well,…I was tryin' to protect ya, ya know?"

He paused and took a deep breath. He wondered if this sounded like bullshit to her, but it wasn't. Men are instinctively protective of women; that was the truth.

"I can't help it if it is a…a "macho thang"…us men…we can't help it."

Grace's sobs had slowed down to some muffled cries and sniffling. She rolled over to face Daryl.

"Really? You don't hate me?" She asked, timidly. Her hazel eyes were puffy and reddened from all the crying.

Daryl shook his head again. "No, not at all."

He didn't know how to explain to her that knew he wasn't the most soothing person in the world, that he would never be like Rick (self-controlled) or Glenn (clever) or even Hershel (the voice of reason), he knew that he came off as overtly cocky and cold. But he knew there was a soft side to him underneath of the rough, hard exterior. He was just picky about who he showed that side to.

"Daryl?" Grace whispered. "Do you ever…" She paused, and chewed on her bottom lip as if she wasn't sure how ask whatever it was that was on her mind.

"Daryl, do you ever…do you ever just wanna….oh, I don't know…give up?" She asked. "Do you ever feel like you just wanna let those things eat you alive and just get it over with?"

Daryl blinked with surprise in response to Grace's question. He had never considered such a thing before. No, he did not ever feel like giving up. He had been surviving long before dead people walked around and fed off of the living; the survivalist mentality was ingrained him since he was knee high to a grasshopper. The outbreak was just one more thing to overcome; to survive. He understood, though, that this kind of primitive survival lifestyle was new, not only to Grace, but to everyone else still alive and he could only imagine the shock it put everyone through trying to adapt so quickly.

"I just feel like…there's no hope sometimes," Grace was saying to Daryl now.

"I don't feel like…" She paused, then deeply sighed. He could see fresh tears forming in her eyes.

"I don't feel like I'm strong enough, you know?" Her voice cracked and tears began to streak her face again.

"All this running and fighting and hiding…I don't know how much more I can take. Every time I see one of those walkers…I feel so sick to my stomach. Not just because they're so horrible looking but because…they used to be people, you know? Real living people. I know I have to kill them…I know there's no way around it…but…but every time I stick one in the head with a knife I think…I think: oh my god. That was somebody's mother or father, brother, wife, child… whoever. That was somebody's something."

Grace was sobbing and trembling again; this time harder than she was before.

The storm rumbled so loud from outside they could hear the steel door shake. Grace's muffled cries filled the storm cellar. Daryl was at a loss for words. He wasn't sure what to say to her. That everything was going to be OK? Nobody could guarantee that.

"Hey, hey," Daryl said as softly as possible. "Take it easy on yer'self, girl. I know whatcha mean…it's all jacked up, ain't it?"

And then he instantly regretted saying that last bit. _Good Lord man, she's already upset e'nuff as it is…whydah have to go and say somethin' like that, asshole? _He chastised himself.

But Grace only nodded her head in response and eagerly wiped her tears from her face as if she was finally trying to pull herself together.

"I'm sorry for not listening to you when we we're out there…" She said, her hazel eyes meeting his blue ones.

"It's just…well, I don't like to use that pistol." Grace told him. "But I guess you could tell that…it was Johnny's…my brother's, you know? And it brings back…memories."

"That's awlright, sweetheart." Daryl answered. "I git where ya comin' from."

He looked over to where his crossbow and backpack lay in the middle of the cellar; Grace's revolver was somewhere over there. He thought about getting up from the cot and going to fetch it for her, to give it back, but Grace spoke again:

"And I'm sorry for all those things I said to you," She apologized. "I can be so stubborn at times. But I know you're a smart guy and you were only looking out for me. You're a good guy to have around if someone is ever in dire straits. The others should feel so lucky to have you in their corner." She smiled at him not only with her mouth but with those pretty eyes as well.

Daryl had been called many things over the years but he never recalled anybody ever calling him a "smart guy" or anybody ever telling him that people "should feel lucky" when he's around.

He searched her eyes and face for any sign of phoniness; was she just putting him on? Bullshitting him? No, she wasn't. Daryl was an expert at reading folks and he could see Grace was one hundred percent genuine.

It was then, Daryl realized he had strands of Grace's soft brunette hair wrapped around his fingers. He had been stroking her hair this whole time they had been talking. He pulled away as soon as the thought registered in his mind, embarrassed and bit annoyed that she hadn't had said something. As he abruptly stood up, he thought he saw a wave of disappointment wash over Grace's face; sad that he had stopped.

"Ya should really git outta them clothes," Daryl said in a low voice over his shoulder; trying to pretend like he hadn't been caressing her head for the last five minutes. Then he realized what he just said and the way it sounded; he glanced back over to Grace, who's eyes had widened in shock.

"I mean, since they's wet and all," Daryl added, quickly. "Ya could do like I did and git o'er there in the dark and wring 'em out a bit."

Grace rolled off the cot and stood up. "Good idea," she said as proceeded to do what he had suggested.

"Oh, and uh, Grace?" Daryl said as he watched her go into the dark corner.

"Yes?"

"Sometimes ya gotta be stronger than ya ever thought ya could be, ya know? I know it's tuff but you just gotta hang in there. Ya a stronger girl than ya know. Trust me."


	6. Butterflies

Chapter Six: Butterflies

Despite the reinforced concrete, Grace could still hear the roar of the storm wailing outside. Debris smashing and scattering everywhere; the steel door shaking made the two-by-four board tremble.

Sometimes she thought she heard a shriek or two and wondered if it was the remaining walkers out there being thrown around and ripped to shreds. It was an unpleasant thought but it was better them than us she reminded herself callously.

As she stood in the dark corner, removing her clothes, and wringing them dry, Grace thought about everything she had just confessed to Daryl. She shook her head, embarrassed at herself, even a bit ashamed. _I hope he doesn't think I'm this big crybaby wimp. _She thought. But everything Grace had told him was the truth; basically in a nutshell - she was scared to death. She did what she had to do, survive, after all it was only natural for humans to try to survive in any environment. But Grace wasn't about to take advantage of this new world, (like so many other people she had met along the way), and take it on like it was chance to prove herself, a chance to pretend to be somebody she wasn't in her prior life - to be a bad-ass; a hero. No, she was none of those things before and she wasn't going try to be one now.

As she slipped her clothes back on in the dark, Grace could hear Daryl shuffling around, probably sifting through his stuff, every once in awhile she could hear him mumble something inaudible. She was touched, albeit surprised, at how quickly he apologized for yelling at her. The way he actually had walked over and sat down beside her on the cot and asked her to stop crying; she could tell he was deeply sorry.

When Grace had been telling Daryl about her feelings on giving up and how sad it made her feel that the walkers used to be real people…somewhere in the middle of that was when his fingers worked their way into her hair. The strokes were so soft at first that she herself hadn't noticed what he was doing. But the longer the conversation went on, the more she relished in his comforting gesture. It had given her butterflies then and they were starting to flutter in her stomach again just thinking about it now. She had caught the look of sheepish embarrassment in Daryl's face when he abruptly stopped stroking her hair, as if he had done something wrong. But no, he had done no wrong. In fact, Grace definitely wouldn't mind he ever did do it again.

_But fat chance he'd ever think of me that way…_Grace thought doubtfully and then it dawned on her: She had a crush on Daryl Dixon. _No way…I can't have I crush on him…do I? How on earth did I manage to get a crush on guy while the world is ending? _Grace softly chuckled to herself. _I guess some things really don't ever change no matter what!_

"Hey, um, Grace?" Daryl's voice from behind her made her jump slightly and her heart skipped a few beats; panicked that maybe somehow he could read her mind.

"You OK?" He asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine," She answered as she stepped out of the dark corner. "Just pulling myself together, that's all."

Daryl was sitting on the floor near the cot, cross-legged, with his backpack and weapon nearby. Grace's eyes immediately went to her revolver in his lap. As if following her gaze, he picked up the gun and held it out to her.

"Here," He said, softly. "I think ya might want this back."

Grace nodded as she walked over to where Daryl sat and reached for the gun.

"Thanks," She whispered.

He held it by the barrel, extending the handle part to her. When she took the handle, Grace's fingertips barely brushed the tips of Daryl's fingers and for a split second she thought she felt his fingers linger on hers for a brief moment until he let the gun slip from his hand.

Grace slowly lifted her eyes from the gun to meet Daryl's blue eyes. He was watching her, in a non-threatening way but curiously, like he was trying to figure her out. Grace adverted her eyes to the floor, afraid that maybe if he stared at her to long, he would figure her out, read her like a book - and laugh at her schoolgirl crush on him.

There was no sounds in cellar except for their breathing and the storm raging outside. As Grace walked over to the cot, where her hostler lay, to put the gun away she casually asked Daryl if he thought the storm would ever let up, trying to break the awkward silence.

"No," He replied. "I think we best just hunker down for the night."


	7. The Days Before

**Thanks for all the reviews, follows, and favorites! I always love to read feedback comments so please remember to review - let me know how I'm doing. (This chapter is a little long but it's purpose is to let you know more about Grace). **

Chapter Seven: The Days Before

Hunker down they did. They decided to leave the single light bulb on; both agreeing that the dim light wouldn't keep them awake. Grace laid on her side on the cot, under the single dusty flat sheet, and rested her head on what had to be the stiffest pillow in the world. She had offered the cot to Daryl, trying to get him to take it, but he had refused repeatedly almost to the point that they nearly had another argument. It ultimately ended with him insisting that he was perfectly fine on the floor. Daryl laid his head on his backpack and stretched out his body on his vest to give him some comfort from the hard, cold floor.

Grace figured she might as well try and get some rest and she shut her eyes and opened them again, time after time, as if she was trying to force them to stay closed. Just when she was about to drift off, Daryl's soft drawl made her open her eyes again.

"Where did ya learn to throw them knifes like you do?" Daryl casually asked out of the blue from the floor.

"Oh, from my daddy and my brother." Grace answered. She smiled to herself, the memories coming back to her.

"It's all started out just for fun, you know?" She continued. "One summer, when I was about nine or ten, I was kind of going through this little…this little tomboy phase, if you will."

Grace chuckled at the thought of her back then - how short she had cut her hair and went for three days without washing it and also how she refused to wear anything but blue jeans and Johnny's old baggy T-shirts.

"You, a tomboy?" Daryl snickered. "Git outta here!"

Grace laughed. "Yeah, I know. I think it only lasted like a couple of weeks. But anyway, yeah, one day Daddy and Johnny were outside and Daddy was teaching him how to throw the knifes in this log. I came out there, hands on my hips, and said: '_Well, I can do that!_' Like it was the easiest thing in the world. But of course I had no idea what I was doing - I was chucking them knifes everywhere and I don't think I hit the log once. Daddy and Johnny sure got a kick of it. Made a fool outta myself, for sure."

Although she couldn't see him, Grace knew Daryl was grinning at her story, trying not to laugh.

"So then what happened?" Daryl asked.

"Oh, I finally got a grip and stopped trying to show off and they just taught me how to do it. It took a few years to get it just right but it kind of became like a hobby for me, you know, like right up there with cooking and baking and cheerleading - knife throwing."

Daryl did laugh at this. "Ha, ha, ha! A knife wielding Barbie doll!"

Grace giggled. "Yeah, that was me." She paused as a somber thought came to mind. "Didn't think I'd ever really have to use that skill, though." She added quietly. "But Daddy thought it was important for me to learn."

"Sounds like he was a daddy that cared."

Daryl replied in such a clipped voice that Grace actually raised her head up from the cot to look at him. She had heard through the grapevine from the others that Daryl didn't have the best childhood growing up.

Daryl cleared his throat and they were both silent for a few minutes.

"So…you were a cheerleader?" Daryl began again, trying to change the subject.

"Yeah," Grace said. "Three years, junior varsity."

"How old are ya, again?" Daryl asked.

"Nineteen," She replied. "And you?" She had made some guesses in her mind about his age but was never really quite sure.

"Old enough."

Grace scoffed playfully. "Oh come on, I told. So can you."

Daryl chuckled. "Well, let's put it this way, honey…I'm old enuff to remember Reaganomics and when MTV played music."

Grace giggled. So he had to be somewhere around his late thirties or early forties. That wasn't that old, she concluded.

"So, tell me about you?" Grace asked.

Daryl grunted. "Not much to tell."

"Oh, come on." Grace pressed.

"Well, I had drunk daddy and mama. They weren't 'round much. Didn't really keep tabs on me…Old man liked to take his anger out on me…One night Mama was so drunk she fell asleep with some lit cigarettes. Burned the house down. Merle was in and out of JV lock-up so many times I lost count. I pretty much fended for myself." *****

"I'm sorry," Grace whispered, wishing she hadn't had made him talk about it.

"Yeah, so I am." Daryl replied bitterly.

"So, is it true about all that stuff everyone says about Merle?" Grace asked, implying to Daryl that she had heard the others mention Daryl's older brother - about what a character he was and she had a feeling their description of him probably didn't even scratch the surface.

"Yeah," said Daryl. "Whatever they told you is probably true and then some. But he's my brother, ya know? Nuthin's ever gonna change that."

They lay in silence again, letting Daryl's story hang in the air, until they both felt comfortable enough to talk again.

"So, how did ya know there'd be a shelter here?" Daryl asked.

"What?" Grace replied, confused. She was still thinking about Daryl's sad childhood.

"Ya said when we were out there that ya knew there was a shelter by the church." Daryl reminded her.

"Oh, yeah." Grace said. "Well, the church outside looked so much like my old one back home. We had a storm cellar like this too, although it was much smaller."

"You'd go to church much?" Daryl asked.

"Yeah, I did." Grace said, remembering those Sunday mornings with Daddy and Johnny. "We'd all go." She continued picturing herself in her Sunday best, the sweet little girly frocks she wore.

"You still believe?" Daryl asked in a tone that sounded like he'd be surprised if she said yes.

"Well," Grace began. "I don't know…honestly? I think I still believe. I know that sounds ridiculous given that the world has gone to hell in a hand basket but deep down I still believe in God."

"Huh." Daryl grunted. Grace waited to see if was going to say any more but when he didn't she went on.

"I mean, I wasn't a perfect Christian. No, not by far. Even before all this happened I started having doubts."

"Doubts about what?"

"Oh, just the usual doubts, you know." Grace hemmed hawed. "I think everybody goes through it. At some point or another you gotta decide what you believe. I mean, I loved God and Jesus, you know. But I knew I did stuff that…I wasn't supposed to do and I felt like I was this big disappointment to God or at least that's how some of the church folks made me feel."

"Welcome to the Bible belt," Daryl laughed. "So… the things ya used to do? What were they?" He sounded amused, albeit, intrigued like he was having a hard time imagining her being a bad girl.

Grace chuckled. "Oh…I would skip school sometimes. I'd hang out with this group of girls. They were kind of…oh, I don't know what you'd call it…I guess "art freaks" would be the label. They were into indie music, smoking weed, and skateboarder dudes. And I would just do what they did. Tagged along. Missed so much of my junior year that my Daddy actually got a phone call from the school saying if I missed anymore days I'd be forced to repeat the eleventh grade."

"What ever happened to yer daddy, Grace?" Daryl suddenly blurted out. "And what about your mama? Ya never talk about her."

Grace was rendered speechless for a second. She took a deep breath.

"Daddy was an alcoholic." She began slowly. "But he wasn't a drunk, you know what I mean?" And then she wanted to slap herself - of course he knew the difference.

"But anyway, yeah, he'd been drinking since he was like fifteen or sixteen years old. And basically it just caught up with him. Liver poisoning. He was fifty-two. It happened about a year before the outbreak started."

Grace paused and gave Daryl a chance to speak, if he wanted.

"And your mama?" He asked.

"She left Daddy when I was four. They got divorced and I never really saw much of her again. Last I heard she moved to Tennessee and got remarried, but I don't really know. All I really knew was Daddy and Johnny and that's was good enough for me."

She knew she was lying about that last bit but Grace really didn't want to get into it. It actually drove her crazy for years. How does a woman just up and leave her own kids like that? Johnny would explain to Grace as she grew up that their father and mother had a shotgun wedding, Mama already five and half weeks pregnant with Johnny when they were hitched. She had been only eighteen at the time. Then less than a year later, Grace came along. So their mother had been this nineteen year old bride with two very young babies in tow and married to a man she barely knew. Daddy had once told Grace that it had been too much for her mother; that she had blamed him that she had to grow up too fast and didn't have a chance to sow any wild oats. _Well too bad, so sad…_Grace often thought of that. Sometimes Grace wondered if that was where she got her lack of strength from, from her mother.

"I'm sorry, Gracie Lou." Daryl was saying to Grace now. "Gracie Lou". He was the only one that called her that and she didn't know why he did it but she liked it. It was like his pet name for her and it made her feel so special.

"So…were you into the skateboarder dudes?" Daryl asked, obviously trying to keep the conversation light.

Grace giggled at the memory of her high school friends swooning over those greasy-haired, hacky-sack playing, pants-dragging-the-ground, Vans wearing goof-offs.

"No," She answered. "I guess they weren't my type."

"You ever have a boyfriend?" He drawled curiously.

"Yeah, sort of. His name was Charlie." Grace closed her eyes and pictured the curly red-headed freckled faced boy. They had met through a friend of a friend and after weeks of going round and round ("_Does he like me?" "Girl, he totally likes you!" "Why don't he ever talk to me?" "Give it some time, he's just shy…" "OK, Grace, I told him to meet us here after school…" "Oh my god, I'm so nervous, does my hair look OK?"_) they finally made it official at the school sponsored country-line dance.

"We'd go out dancing, bowling, hang out at the Pizza Hut in town." Grace told Daryl. "You know, the typical high school stuff. Charlie had a four wheeler and he'd take me riding on that sometimes. He was a fun guy."

"Just a fun guy?" Daryl questioned. "It wasn't true love?"

Grace laughed. "Oh, no. We weren't that serious. At least I wasn't. I know he wanted to get serious but…no. I just didn't feel that strongly about him."

There was a brief pause in the air.

"Did y'all git a little handsy?" Daryl blurted out, snickering.

"Daryl!" Grace exclaimed but she was laughing as well.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Daryl was cracking up. "I couldn't help it! So…did ya?"

Grace let out an exaggerated sigh, pretending to be offended by the question but she really wasn't. It was just so funny the way he asked it.

"Well, that depends on your definition of "handsy", mister." Grace said. "We'd make-out. There were a couple of times he'd try to feel me up but I'd always squirm away." She paused and considered something for a moment.

"I guess I really should of done it while I had the chance, huh? Never thought the end of world would come if I didn't lose my V-card right away. I always thought that was something everybody just said; now I know that they really meant it!" She joked.

Daryl was laughing heartily.

"Oh my god, girl." He was saying. "Yer too silly! But hey, you know what? It's OK."

"What's OK?" Grace asked.

"Oh, ya know." Daryl spoke softly now. "About what ya said. It's OK. There's nuthin' to be 'shamed of."

There were those butterflies in her stomach again. Grace pulled herself into the fetal position on the cot wondering if maybe she said too much and if he thought she was a prude. But the way he had said she shouldn't feel ashamed; she felt like he really meant it.

"So…what about you?" Grace asked Daryl, dying to know about his love life.

"What about me, honey?"

Grace scoffed. "Oh, no, no, no!" She was laughing but she wasn't going to let him off the hook. "You ain't gonna play that game, mister." She told him. "If I can share; so can you!"

Daryl laughed. "OK, whatcha wanna know?"

"Did you ever have a girlfriend?" Grace thought it was stupid to ask, the man was very attractive and old enough to have had more than few girlfriends in his lifetime. But she had a hard time picturing him with anybody because of his loner personality.

"Well," Daryl began. "There was this girl in high school. Bridgette. She was cute as a button."

"Did y'all get a little handsy?" Grace drawled, giggling.

"Sure we did!" Daryl answered her without missing a beat. She knew that he knew she was mocking him but he didn't care. Grace couldn't stop giggling at the silliness the conversation had taken a turn for.

"I am just yer average red-blooded 'merican male, ya know?" He continued. "Sure. We got a little handsy and then some."

For some reason this made Grace shifted a little nervously in the cot. She figured he wasn't a virgin but still had a hard time picturing him making love to anybody. She wondered what he'd be like in bed: slow?, fast?, soft?, hard? The only thing she could come up with was when it came down to it he probably knew what he was doing - and the thought of that thrilled and terrified her at the same time.

"To be honest wit you, Grace," Daryl was saying now. "I never was that serious wit any girl. I mean, I like women and all. But I never really had a shinin' example from a man on how to treat a lady, ya know?" He paused and then added quietly, "I guess ya could call me gun-shy."

Grace rolled over to look down at Daryl on the floor. He was still stretched out, laying on as much of his vest as he could, head on his backpack, eyes closed. A few whispers of his shaggy brown hair were out of place. Before she could stop herself, Grace reached over and push those strands back to where they belong. Daryl's blue eyes snapped open and looked at her curiously.

"I think you know how to treat a lady," Grace whispered to him. She was going to say more but thought maybe she had said enough for the night. To her surprise, he took her hand, that was dangling from the cot, brought it up to his lips and planted a kiss on her knuckles. Grace felt a jolt of electricity running through her, through every nerve in her body, as if she had been standing outside with a lightening rod.

"Yer a sweet girl, Gracie Lou." Daryl told her as he let go of her hand but still held her gaze. "Don't ever change."

And with that he rolled over, indicating that their late night talk was over and he wanted to get some sleep. Grace rolled over on the cot and faced the concrete wall. She was still thinking about his lips on her hand, how he told her she was sweet…she knew she was acting like a thirteen year old girl but didn't care. It made her feel the happiest she had ever felt in a long time.

Absentmindedly she began humming a tune, softly to herself. Soon she found herself quietly singing:

"Georgia, Georgia, the whole day through/Just a sweet old song keeps Georgia on my mind/Georgia, Georgia, a song of you/Comes as sweet and clear as moonlight through the pines…"

Grace had no idea why the state song popped into her mind. Maybe because she always liked that song or because she was just so giddy at moment she couldn't help it.

"Grace?" Daryl mumbled.

"Yeah?" She replied.

"What didcha do before all this happened?"

"Oh, I was working full time at this ice cream shoppe in town. I had just started taking some online college classes. To get my general ed stuff outta of the way."

Daryl grunted. "That's nice." He murmured. "So I guess if the world ever gits back to normal I won't have to worry about ya being a singer for a livin', huh?" He chuckled.

Grace laughed. "Oh, shut up, Dixon!"

"Night-night, honey." He drawled, amused.

***(I'm new to the show so let me me know if Daryl's backstory is correct or not)**


	8. Kiss Me Again

Chapter Eight: Kiss Me Again

Grace drifted off to sleep briefly but was awoken by the sound of Daryl constantly tossing and turning on the floor of the cellar. She could hear him mumbling to himself, he sounded frustrated about something.

"Daryl?" Grace asked, sleepily.

The shifting sound stopped. "Oh, sorry, honey," Daryl murmured. "I didn't mean to wake ya up. Just tryin' to git comfy."

Grace raised her head up off the dusty old pillow and looked down at him. "Are you sure you don't want come up here with me? I mean, I know it's kind of small but I think we both could fit -"

"I told ya I'm fine on the floor." Daryl cut Grace off impatiently. Grace blinked at his short, clipped response. She sighed.

"OK then. Suit yourself." She told him as she rolled back over.

The cellar was quiet, except for the few sounds of lingering thunder and rain. But soon, Daryl's fussing began again. Grace tried to shut her eyes and block out the noise he made. She was about to ask him again to share the cot with her but she knew that would only make him angry. She curled up into the fetal position and did her best to ignore him.

Some time later Grace awoke to a disturbance being made to the cot. It made a creaking sound and then she realized Daryl had slipped in beside her. Grace was facing the wall, but her eyes flew wide open, a bit taken aback and nervous. She had been insisting that he share the cot with her only out of politeness; she never thought he would actually do it.

And there he was lying with his back turned to her, his body heat radiating off onto her. Grace felt her cheeks flush and her heart skip a few beats. She tried to shift a little bit away from him, to give him some space, but there was no further space left to move.

"I'm sorry; I just couldn't take it anymore on that cold ass floor." Daryl said as Grace shifted.

"It's OK," Grace answered but it came out more like a squeak. Or a squeal. _You're being ridiculous, girl. _She thought. _Get a grip….get a grip…! _But she couldn't get a grip. She wanted to squeal and giggle like a seventh grade girl who just saw her crush wink at her in the hallway.

"Hey, this thing ain't that bad, ain't it?" Daryl commented on the cot, but apparently desired no response, as he shifted himself around to get comfortable. He seemed overly fussy and anxious about something ever since their conversation about their lives prior to the world now. Grace murmured a yes-like response and folded her hands underneath her head and tried to fall back asleep; trying to ignore the fact that the handsome hunter was lying right next to her.

Grace wasn't sure when it happened, or how, or how much time had passed. At first she only felt his fingers in her hair, stroking as softly as he had before when she had been crying. Then she felt Daryl gently pull back her hair to reveal the nape of her neck and his warm breath on her ear as he called her name.

"Grace?" Daryl whispered. "Grace…wake up."

She gingerly rolled over to face him. He wore an expression she had never seen before on him. _Softness. _

Grace parted her lips to speak but couldn't. Luckily he did the talking first.

"Gracie Lou, honey, " He whispered, blue eyes twinkling even in the dim light.

"Could I…Could I kiss ya?"

Grace couldn't hold back her smile. She almost wanted to laugh, not to be cruel, but because she couldn't believe this grown man actually asked permission to kiss her. It was the sweetest gesture any guy had ever made to her.

"Yes…" She replied, shyly but without breaking his gaze.

He cupped her face in his hands and leaned into plant a soft tender kiss on her lips. The feel of his mustache and whiskers on her face made her tremble with pleasure.

When they broke apart, he still had her face cupped in his hands, their eyes both searching the other's as if they were both trying to ask without speaking: What happens now?

They seemed to be locked in the intense stare for some time before Grace finally spoke:

"You can kiss me again…if you want to."

Daryl nodded slowly, deliberately. "Oh, yes, darlin'. I want to."

When his mouth met hers again this time she responded and kissed him back. They were sweet, chaste kisses at first. It had been a long time since Grace had kissed anybody and she assumed the same was probably true for Daryl so she liked the slow pace they were taking.

She slowly slid her arms around his neck to pull him closer; to show him she liked him, liked his kisses, liked being next to him. He responded by deepening their kiss and when Grace felt Daryl's tongue tentatively slide into her mouth she wasn't ready for it and reacted with surprise and pulled away.

"I'm sorry," Daryl stammered, hurriedly. A look of panic washed over his face.

"It's OK," Grace whispered, her arms still around his neck. "It just took me by surprise, that's all. Can we try again?"

And she pulled him back gently toward her and they resumed kissing again; this time deeper and hotter than before. He softly moaned as she let her arms slide off his neck and drift slowly down his back, running her hands up and down the length of his back. She almost considered tugging on his damp sleeveless shirt; signaling that she wanted him to take it off but she wasn't sure if she was ready to do that just yet.

Daryl was now planting little kisses all over Grace's face and she couldn't hold back the moans, the deep sighs escaping from her. She felt like there was no longer a butterfly garden in her stomach but a raging wildfire. It was then she realized how completely turned on she was by all this and she trembled with excitement and anxiety.

When he moved down to her neck, a kiss there and a nibble there, she felt she was going to lose all control. It felt so good, more than good, almost so good it should be a sin and Grace figured it probably was but she told herself she'd gladly go to hell for this. The feel of Daryl's lips on her neck and his goatee brushing against her skin made her so giddy she actually giggled.

"Tee Hee…"

Kiss. Kiss. Nibble. Nibble.

"Ha, ha…tee hee…"

Kiss. Kiss. Nibble. Suck.

"Tee hee, hee, hee!" Grace tried to stop laughing but couldn't.

Daryl looked up at her, perplexed, but smiling. "What's so funny, girl?"

Grace giggled uncontrollably now. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

"It's just…your whiskers." She told him as she ran a finger down the side of his jaw. "They tickle."

Daryl smirked as he raised an eyebrow. "Oh they tickle, huh?"

And with that he rubbed his face all over her face and neck, making her squeal with delight. She continued to run her hands up and down his back and they began kissing again.

Daryl's hands had been playing in Grace's hair but as they kissed she felt his hands slide out of her hair, down to her shoulders, stroke up and down over her arms, and they were slowly working their way underneath her shirt - up to her bra.

Grace knew what Daryl was about to do and she felt herself tense up a little bit but made no move to stop him. She kept on kissing him, feeling his fingers linger over her bra and then the tentative rubbing on her breasts.

_This is crazy…._Grace thought. _I have to stop this…This has gone far enough…I have to - oh my god...This feels so damn good!_

Daryl's hands on her made Grace briefly remember good old Charlie boy. How he always tried to steal second base and when he did it was like he was trying to tune a radio. He didn't know what he was doing but Daryl sure did.

Amid the amazing sensations she was feeling in the heat of the moment, Grace began to feel something else. Her legs felt like they were trying to be gently pried open - by one of Daryl's hands that had apparently snaked it's way down there. Grace immediately squeezed her legs together, pressing down on Daryl's hand, in which he quickly pulled it away. The kissing and kneading abruptly stopped. They stared at each other as if they were each both a deer in the headlights.

"Oh my god, Grace." Daryl breathed hard, blue eyes widened in horror. He quickly rolled off of her and sat straight up on the edge of the cot, running his fingers through hair, looking like he was about to yank it out by the roots.

"I shouldn't have done that." He said.

Grace sat up. "It's OK," She began. "I'm not mad at you. We just got a little carried away, that's all." She reached out to put a hand on his shoulder but he jumped up before she could.

"No!" He exclaimed, back still turned to her. "No, no, no! No, I shouldn't have done that….I shouldn't have done _any_ of that…"

He began to pace frantically back and forth across the cellar, pulling at his hair, mumbling curses to himself. She watched him in bewilderment and her mouth agape.

"I shouldn't have done that…I shouldn't have done that…" Daryl kept repeating over and over to himself.

"It's nothing to freak out over, Daryl." Grace said, calmly, trying to get him to relax.

She swung her legs over the cot and set her feet on the floor. She was about rise to get up and walk over to where he was but he shot her such a look that she froze in place.

"Oh, yeah, it is something to freak out over, Grace!" He cried. He stopped pacing and roughly rubbed his face with both hands in exasperation.

"What are you so worried about?" Grace asked, wrinkling her brow.

He was acting like they had gone all the way and in nine months there would be a little Daryl Junior crawling around. She got up and walked over to where he stood, still rubbing his face like he was trying to rub it off.

"Hey," Grace whispered. She reached for his hand but he pulled away.

"Hey, hey," She begged. She started to get seriously concerned. _What has gotten into him? _

"Hey, come on, Daryl." She tried again to touch him but he only shook her off.

"What's wrong?" She could feel fear rising up inside of her, tears threatening to form on her eyelids. She snatched his arm and made him turn to look at her.

"Please talk to me, sweetie." She said.

Daryl only stared at Grace for a moment and adverted his eyes to the floor. He lowered his head as he mumbled something she could barely make out.

"What?" Grace asked but she wondered if she did hear him correctly. She thought he muttered something like: "Don't call me sweetie." Her heart sank a little but she chose to think maybe, hopefully she had heard him wrong.

Daryl looked back up at her and shook his head. "Nuthin'." He answered. He kept trying to avoid her gaze.

Grace searched his face, stared at him, trying to read him - trying to figure out what had him so upset. He didn't do anything wrong. She just hadn't been ready, that's all. She wondered if maybe he was angry at her - maybe he thought she had led him on, she hadn't meant to, she wasn't into playing games with guys like a lot of girls do.

He had asked to kiss her, it was a dream come true, so of course she let him kiss her.

But the kiss had led to another kiss and then some. They had gotten what Daryl liked to call "a little handsy".

_But it was more than just mindless groping…wasn't it? _Grace thought.

She hoped so. She knew it wasn't just lust for her and she could only hope Daryl felt the same way.

Grace slowly walked toward Daryl and gingerly cupped his face in her hands. Surprisingly, he let her.

"Daryl, I don't know why you're so upset," Grace whispered to him, as she peered into his blue eyes that seemed to have grown a shade darker. "But let's not do this, OK? Let's not fight. Come back to the cot and let's get some sleep, all right?"

Daryl chewed on his bottom lip and slowly nodded in agreement. He let her lead him back to the cot where they both slept back to back.


	9. I Shouldn't Have Done That

**Note: This chapter is in Daryl's POV.**

**Thank you for all the reviews, favorites, and follows! Remember to review! :)**

Chapter Nine: I Shouldn't Have Done That

_Dixon, you fuckin' idiot!_

Daryl chastised himself when he awoke the next morning and recalled the events of the night before. Sometime the night, Grace had inadvertently rolled over and Daryl found himself lying on a cot in a storm cellar with a nineteen year old girl, her head on his chest, sleeping like a baby, a smile on her pretty face, dreaming…dreaming whatever sweet little dreams that were going on inside that pretty little head of hers.

_Probably dreamin' of you, genius. _He thought wanting to kick himself.

_You started this; now you gotta end it. End it before it even begins….End it before you break her little heart in two._

He rolled out of the cot, not even bothering trying not to wake her, and picked up his vest and backpack from the floor. He slipped on his vest and fumbled noisily through his backpack. He realized he was starving.

The only thing he could come up with was a few Clif energy bars; something he had looted from a store in the city, figuring they'd come in handy whenever food was scarce. As he tore the wrapper open and chopped down on the bar, Grace was slowing waking up on the cot. She stretched out her arms and legs, mouth opening to a big, loud yawn. He watched her as she came to, her pretty hazel eyes adjusting to waking up, running one of her hands through that beautiful mane of hair he loved to play with.

She glanced over and recognized he was no longer in the cot with her and he briefly detected a flash of panic on her face, but when she looked up to see him there, chewing on the energy bar, her face relaxed. She smiled but it wasn't just any smile. It was…_that smile._

_Oh no, no, no…_Daryl thought. _Don't look at me like that…don't smile at me like that, girl. Please stop. I'm not your boyfriend…stop smiling at me like that!_

"Hey, whatcha got there?" Grace asked curiously, indicating the Clif bar. She swung her legs over the side of the cot.

Daryl tossed her a bar. "Eat up and git ready to roll." He told her through a mouthful of chocolate chip flavor.

"The storm's over now. And if we don't git our asses back to the prison pronto, Officer Friendly's gonna come lookin' for us. Can't put him through that, can we?" He concluded as he shoved the last bit in his mouth.

Grace only nodded as she carefully tore off the wrapper and took a bite of bar. She looked up at him and he could tell what she was thinking, what she was going to say.

"Listen, Daryl. About last night…" Grace began softly but Daryl waved her off.

"No time for small talk, honey," Daryl said and then cringed. _Stop calling her "honey". She'll start thinking she really is your "honey" if she doesn't already…_

He motioned to her to get up and start getting her stuff together.

"C'mon, we gotta git back. They probably think we've either been blown away or eaten up by now."

Daryl zipped up his backpack and put it on. He grabbed up his crossbow and slung it over his shoulder. Grace finished off the bar, stood up and looked around for her holster, found it, and put it on. As he began climbing the steps up to the door of the cellar, he could hear her saying:

"Daryl, wait a minute. We need to talk about -"

He purposely stomped as hard as he could on the concrete steps and jiggled the two-by-four board loose from the handle as noisily as possible to drown out her voice.

"We gotta go, Grace. C'mon." Was all he said as he removed the board, pretending to be so preoccupied with the door that he didn't have time to listen to her. Truth was, he didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to think about it. He wanted to just forget about it.

He didn't want to think about how he laid on the floor of the cellar, after their conversation, and thought about everything she had told him about her life prior to the outbreak.

She had lots of memories: some good and some terribly sad but it seemed like to Daryl that Grace tried desperately not to let the sad memories shape her.

She was sad, he could tell, but she wasn't bitter. She had expressed her fears to him about the world as it was now, afraid there was no hope, and he could tell she was still hanging on to whatever little hope she had left. She was fighting so hard not to become jaded.

There was a disturbing innocence to Grace; it was so grossly out of place in the screwed-up world now. Everybody had been through so much in the last year or so, some losing people they loved and some slowly starting to lose their minds as well. Daryl had watched a good man lose his best friend and wife, he had held back a hysterical widow from running toward her turned daughter and he reluctantly took on the task of putting down a dear old man after he had been attacked by a walker.

He had been there in the campsite that night when Grace was forced to do something similar, when she had to put down her brother. He didn't see it upclose but from a distance he could see the young girl sobbing over the young man and the look of devastation on her face when she pulled the trigger. Like she had just killed the only thing she had left that mattered to her and that was exactly what she had done. It had shook her up to her very core but yet she held on to hope even if she knew how incredibly naive it was.

Daryl definitely didn't want to think about his growing feelings for the girl. He didn't want to think about himself finally giving in: sliding in the cot with her, stroking her soft hair, asking her if he could kiss her - and she had actually agreed! He thought for sure she would freak out that he, this dirty old redneck, wanted to kiss her. But she had even told him that he could kiss her again…if he wanted to. Yes, he did want to. And he did. And she kissed him back. She wanted him as much as he wanted her, it was clear. But for how long had she been feeling that way?

Daryl didn't know and figured it didn't matter. He felt so stupid. He shouldn't have done that. He shouldn't have kissed her neck and kneaded her breasts. He shouldn't have let her run her hands up and down his back. He definitely shouldn't have tried to put his hand in between her legs. Bottom line: he shouldn't have led her on. Relationships were complicated enough before the outbreak - but nowadays? Good luck. Rick could vouch for that. Glenn and Maggie could vouch for that. Hell, even Shane and Lori could most certainly vouch for that if they were still alive.

Daryl carefully lifted up the door of the cellar, slowly, almost painstakingly slow, not sure what was going to be found on the outside. He peeped his head just barely over the entrance of the cellar to look around. The storm had hit all right, but the damage wasn't nearly as bad he expected. The church was still standing, albeit, a few shingles had been torn off and the stain glass windows shattered. Debris from the church and other materials from the barn a few feet away were scattered everywhere. The cumulonimbus clouds were gradually breaking up and drifting away leaving behind a grey tinted sky. There were no walkers to be seen; no guttural growls being made.

Everything was strangely still and quiet. Almost peaceful in eerie way.

"What's it look like out there?" Grace asked. Daryl looked down to see to her crouching on the steps just right below him, staring up at him with curiosity.

"It's clear," Daryl replied as he turned back to survey the land.

He pulled himself up out of the storm cellar and turned to extend his hand to Grace. His hand wrapped tightly around hers and with a single pull he yanked her out of there. She mumbled a "thanks" but by the look of discomfort on her face he figured he had pulled on her arm a little too hard. Grace brushed herself off and looked around to assess the view herself.

"Whoa…" was all she breathed.

They carefully passed the church and walked back to the barn, or at least where the barn used to be. The rickety old construction lay in shambles. The roof and the walls had caved in. As they carefully passed by the wreckage, assessing the damage, Daryl was grateful Grace knew was a storm cellar by the church. Otherwise they would have been crushed under the pile of rubble like the remaining walkers were now. Some were still moving, still moaning, still waving their arms frantically, still trying to consume human flesh.

_And it's still jacked-up, ain't it? _Daryl thought bitterly as he watched one walker try desperately to get him but it was impaled through it's stomach by a rafter.

"Man, this is so sick," Grace said with disgust as she covered her mouth in horror. She turned to look at Daryl. He only shrugged in response.

"We gotta look for my bolts and yer knives." Daryl said. "We gotta find as many as we can. I know it ain't gonna be pretty, but…well, ya know."

They searched around the rubble of the barn, carefully, on edge, keeping an eye out on any walker that could possibly still grab one of them but most of them were either dead or torn up so bad that they couldn't get to either Daryl or Grace if they wanted to.

Daryl heard Grace groan with disgust each time she found a walker she had stuck with one of her knives - the sickening sound it made when she pulled it out of its head. He found a few of his bolts, but most were nowhere to be seen again.

They salvaged the most of their weapons that they could and began the trek back to the prison. Daryl consulted his compass and pointed in the direction that lead back into the woods. Some of the trees limbs had snapped from the storm and littered the forest floor. They walked on, hurriedly but carefully.

As he led the way, Daryl listened to the soft footsteps Grace made behind him. There was that awkward tension in the air again, a deafening silence, as thick as the Georgia heat. Daryl felt beads of sweat drip from his forehead down over his face. He rubbed at his face and looked at his hand to see a dirty residue on there. He was dying for a shower.

"Daryl?" Grace softly asked behind as they walked along the woods.

"Daryl, are you OK?"

Daryl swallowed hard and shut his eyes tightly and re-opened them. He knew she wasn't going to let what happened in the cellar go but he tried to play dumb anyway.

"Yeah, I'm great." He answered, shortly, continuing to walk on. "And you?"

Grace sighed deeply. "You know what I mean, Daryl," She told him, voice low, intent on making him talk. He could hear her kick around some forest debris as they walked.

"About last night…" Grace began again but he just couldn't stand thinking about it.

"Nuthin' happened last night." He cut her off, pointedly. He found himself taking bigger strides as he felt himself getting worked up.

"Yes, it did," Grace called to him as she tried to catch up. "Why won't you talk about it?"

Daryl felt that all too familiar rage boiling up inside of him. _Women! Why can't they just let by-gones be by-gones?! _

He stopped walking so short that she bumped into him. He turned to face her now, blue eyes flashing wildly.

"No!" He exclaimed. "Nuthin' happened last night, Grace, and that's final. Drop it." He waved his hands back and forth over each other, trying to indicate that the conversation was over.

Grace gawked at him aghast. "Yes, something did happen," She argued. "I don't call us making out and you with your hands up my shirt "nothing"!" She put her hands on her hips.

Daryl looked down at his feet and quickly snapped his head up again to look at her. Her hazel eyes looked like they were on fire.

"Look, Grace," Daryl began, trying to be a little calmer. "OK, so…yeah. We got a little "handsy." But it was nuthin'. Don't' make it into somethin' it ain't, awlright?" He paused and then added: "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done _any_ of that last night. I never should of even thought about kissing ya. Just forget about it and don't ya dare tell anybody about it either."

He turned around to start walking again, thinking hopefully he had made himself clear. He had only taken a few steps before Grace spoke again from behind:

"Why?" She asked. Daryl froze in place. "Why?" Grace repeated, obviously becoming agitated.

"Why don't you want anybody to know, Daryl?" She challenged. "Are you too afraid they might see you as somebody with a soft side? Does it threaten your loner, bad-boy, bad-ass, don't-give-a-shit redneck persona?"

Daryl felt his hands ball into fists and his heart beat rapidly. She was right but he wasn't about to admit it. He turned around slowly to look at her where she was still standing a few feet away. Her arms were folded across her chest.

"You don't have be tough all the time, Daryl." Grace said. "It's OK to let your guard down."

That was the final straw for him. He glared at this girl, wondering who she thought she was by psycho-analyzing him. No, it was not OK to let your guard down. He had learned that hard way over and over again his whole life. You let your guard down; you get walked all over - simple as that.

"Ya better back the fuck off, Barbie!" He exclaimed as he stomped toward her, pointing a finger at her. "Git this here straight, missy. You don't know me. You may think ya know me but ya don't. Just 'cause we spent one night in a storm cellar together doesn't mean shit."

Grace only stood there, listening to his wrath, not even flinching. She only adverted her eyes to the ground, her face growing sad.

"I think it meant something," She replied. "It meant something to me and it meant something to you too. You're just too scared to say it."

Daryl scoffed. "Girl, I ain't scared of nuthin'!" But he knew that wasn't true as soon as he said it. He was scared. He was scared he was falling for this girl.

"Then why did you want to kiss me?" Grace asked, her voice cracking. Daryl could see she was dangerously close to tears.

He didn't want to admit that he wanted to kiss her because he found her so sweet, so innocent, so adorably out of place in this royally messed up world. He didn't want to admit that she made him feel younger than he had ever felt in a long time.

Instead he came up with something that he knew would shut her up for good.

"I don't know, Grace." He began exasperated. "I don't know…maybe…maybe it was because I was feelin' a little randy and you were there to scratch that itch for me. Huh?! How's that grab ya?!"

At first Daryl wasn't even sure that he had spoken the words. When it registered in his mind what he had just said and how incredibly cold hearted it sounded he felt a wave a shame wash over him. _That wasn't true. _He thought. _That wasn't true at all…_

But the damage was done. Daryl felt like he might as well have kicked Grace in the stomach by the look of sheer horror, anger, confusion, embarrassment and disappointment that came over her face in waves. He could see the tears on her eyelids, brimming on the edge, threatening to spill over any second. Her face had screwed up in the weirdest expression.

He was waiting for her to go ballistic on him; the waterworks would be unleashed, she would scream at him and try to slap him - cue the hissy fit in 4...3...2...1.

But surprisingly, Grace made no movement. She only stood there, eyes glistening with tears, slowly rocking side to side. It was like she was still trying to adjust to the ugly verbal blow.

She shifted from foot to foot; kicked at the ground. She hugged herself tightly and a few little sharp, short gasps came from her mouth but she still held back the tears.

Daryl hung his head in shame. _Why did I say that? I shouldn't have said that...It's not true, Gracie Lou…it's not true, baby._

"Come on; let's go." Grace croaked. "We gotta get back." She marched forward to where he was and quickly brushed past him, bumping his shoulder as she passed, either intentionally or not.

Daryl reached out and caught her hand to stop her. "Grace…" He whispered. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I -"

She roughly yanked her hand out of his and whirled around on her heel to face him. Her eyes were ablaze and the tears had begun to slowly, quietly trail down her face.

"Oh no, Daryl!" She cried. " You don't need to apologize. You made yourself _perfectly_ clear. It's OK. I understand. Everybody has _itches_ they just gotta _scratch_! It's OK. Now I know where I stand with you. Let's go."

She sobbed and eagerly rubbed at her eyes; trying to brush away the tears. She didn't wait for him to say anything else as she turned around and strolled away.

Daryl was glad she didn't wait because he didn't know what to say anymore. He had said plenty, that was for sure.

_I shouldn't have said that…_


	10. The Ravine

Chapter Ten: The Ravine

As Grace stomped her way through the woods, she knew she was being foolish. Not just by noisily kicking forest debris around but by crying over Daryl. She wiped at her eyes telling herself to stop crying, that the callous hillbilly wasn't worth her tears, and he definitely wasn't worth attracting walkers to them by the sound of her crying.

"Grace, wait up," Daryl called from behind her. She didn't want to stop walking. She didn't want to even look at the man. She considered, bitterly, asking him if he had another "itch" he wanted her to "scratch". But she couldn't find the words. She couldn't find any words to say anything.

"Let me lead." He told Grace as he brushed passed her without a single glance. "Keep watchin' our backs." He added as he assumed the lead.

Grace stood there momentarily, a bit irked, that he made no further effort to soften the verbal blow he inflicted on her earlier. She continued to follow behind him, all the while, her heart sinking lower and lower in her chest at the thought of what she knew would come of their relationship. They would go back to that prison and they would have to pretend like nothing ever happened between them.

_I was just an opportunity that presented itself to him. _She thought. _Nothing more. It was storming outside... we were in a dark, confined space...We got to be talking...I told him some stuff I shouldn't have...He got some ideas...He acted on those ideas...And I let him. I let him because of my silly schoolgirl crush on him. Honestly, what did I think was going to happen? That he'd promise to love me forever?! That I was gonna be his girlfriend?! _

Grace's thoughts threatened to produce a fresh set of tears but she pinched herself and held them back. She was through with crying. She through with everything. She just wanted to get back to the prison, distance herself from Daryl Dixon, and never go on another run with him or be alone in the same presence as him ever again.

The storm had caused many limbs to snap and they littered the forest floor. It was almost impossible to move without stepping on a stick that made a crunching noise. They walked on, in the right direction this time, neither one speaking. As she followed along, Grace thought she could see Daryl tossing a sidelong glance at her, checking to see if she was still back there, but she also thought she could see him open his mouth to say something but he would always shake his head slightly and turn away.

_Yeah, you better keep on walking, Mister. _Grace thought, snarky.

She saw they were about to descend down a slope and she could hear the sound of water trickling and she knew that they were approaching a ravine they had passed the day before. They were getting close.

When they were on the edge of the slope suddenly something caught Grace's foot as she took a step. It was a thick root sticking out of the ground, and she went flying face first, hard, into the muddy clay. She hit the ground with an "Oomph!" She felt her backpack slide off her back and her holster come loose. Daryl quickly stopped and turned around to find her lying there and he made a move to help Grace get up but she had already pushed herself up and sat on her knees, trying to regain composure.

"You OK?" Daryl asked, gingerly, offering his hand to her.

Grace wiped the mud off her shirt on her jeans. She looked at his extended hand and shook her head to refuse his help.

"Yeah, I'm great," Grace huffed. "Never been better."

Daryl only stood there, watching Grace on the ground. He looked like he was about to try and say something to her again when from around him, Grace saw an incoming walker approaching toward them.

"Daryl, look out!" Grace cried as she pointed behind him. Daryl turned and saw the walking corpse come toward them. It was a mystery to Grace how they both just now saw the walker - they didn't even hear him coming, this particular one didn't like to growl apparently.

Daryl reached for his crossbow, but Grace figured that would take too long. She grabbed a knife from her holster and propelled it at the walker, where it stuck, and he crumpled to the ground.

"Did I ever tell ya what a good shot you are?" Daryl said, as he turned back to look at Grace, a smirk on his face that quickly disappeared as he looked over her head.

"Aw, shit." He muttered as he loaded the crossbow. "Looks like he brought his friends."

Grace quickly jumped up and turned around to see three more walkers inching their way toward them. She quickly fastened on her holster and readied herself to start hurling them.

"Got more of 'em comin' at us - three o'clock." Daryl said and Grace looked behind her to see about five more walkers coming from his direction. Surprisingly, he tossed her his crossbow and flung open his backpack to pull out the sawed-off twelve gauge.

"Keep the bow on ya and give it to me if I holler for it!" He said over his shoulder as they pressed up back-to-back, squaring off against the walkers in both directions.

"I ain't got many bolts left - I gotta do what I can with the gun." He said as he took aim.

"Ready? On three…One! Two! Three!"

Grace propelled her knives without thinking or blinking. She stuck every one of her targets in the head and the sound of the shotgun rounds going off right behind her made her eardrum feel like it was going to explode.

The walkers crumpled and fell to the ground; some slid down the muddy slope into the ravine. It was all over almost as soon as it had begun.

They both stood there momentarily, breathing hard and looking around to assess the carnage. Grace couldn't believe so many walkers had showed up all at once given that they barely had any when they had come by the ravine the day before.

"Where did all these _mo-fos _come from?!" Grace asked incredulously and when she glanced up at Daryl she saw he was smirking at her word choice.

"They musta got spread 'round by the storm last night." Daryl suggested as he zipped up the shotgun in his backpack. Grace went to retrieve her knives from the walkers. She felt the crossbow bouncing around on her back and was about to turn to give it back to Daryl when she heard him curse.

Grace turned to see that one walker apparently hadn't died; it was that first peculiar one that had snuck up on them. Apparently Grace's knife hadn't completely penetrated through his brain and he now had a hold on Daryl's ankle, snapping his mouth and growling wildly.

"Daryl!" Grace cried as she drew a knife.

"Don't worry; I got this!" He called back and he lifted his other foot to kick in the walker's face but he lost his balance on the slippery ground and fell backwards down the slope with the walker still holding on to his ankle.

"Daryl! No!" Grace exclaimed as she dropped the knife and ran down the slope to the ravine where Daryl had fallen. She too had a difficult time keeping her balance on the rain soaked ground and nearly tripped a second time. She saw where Daryl had fallen with the walker, right in the middle of the stream, and she watched in horror as he struggled on his back to get away from the monster, pushing himself away with his arms and legs as the persistent walker kept clawing at him.

Grace's hand immediately went to fetch one of her knives but then she realized she had dropped the one she had and the all the others were gone. She felt the crossbow, still rocking on her back, and she slung it around and took aiming position. As she released the safety, she knew she had no idea what she was doing, but told herself desperate times called for desperate measures. It was already loaded; all she had to do was pull the trigger. She lined up the walker's head in the crosshairs of the scope and went to tap the trigger. Grace then realized her right index finger was in the path of the string and moved it, just in time so it wouldn't take her finger off, but not quick enough that the string grazed the top of her finger and skinned it good.

"Son of a bitch!" Grace cried as the excruciating pain made her drop the crossbow. The bolt hit the walker but her shot was way off - it pierced him in his back. The walker snarled angrily but was still relentless in his hungry pursuit of Daryl. Grace could tell that Daryl was injured somehow. He was pushing himself away, but each time he moved, he grimaced in pain.

"Grace! Yer gun!" He called out to her.

Grace's hand went to her revolver. Everything that happened next seemed to play out in slow motion: Her taking aim at the walker, her finger wrapping around the trigger despite its bleeding and trembling with pain. She took one shot and hit the walker, blowing a hole right through his head. She unloaded two more rounds into him for good measure. He finally flopped down face first, dead, in the stream. Daryl was huffing and puffing; trying to regain his breath. Grace gasped as she saw his eyes roll back into his head and he fainted backwards into the water.

"Daryl!" Grace cried as she tore through the stream to get to him. She dragged him out of the water and on to the slope where she gently slapped at his face.

"Daryl? Daryl! Daryl, wake up!" Grace pleaded.

Daryl slowly came to and his blue eyes peered into hers.

"Grace?" He whispered. "Gracie Lou…honey. You OK?"

Grace tucked her legs underneath her as she knelt beside him. "Forget about me. Are you OK?"

She reached up and stroked his hair back. He had cuts and bruises all over his forehead.

Daryl coughed. "Yeah, I'm great." He replied stoically. "Never been better." He managed to give her a weak smile.

Grace felt tears on her eyelids again and breathed a sigh of relief as she continued to stroke his hair.

"That little _mo-fo _was a fighter, wasn't he?" Daryl teased her. Grace managed to huff out a chuckle.

"Are you sure you're OK?" Grace asked, cupping his face in her hands.

"Yeah." Daryl replied. "I just got the wind knocked outta me rollin' down that hill."

He reached up to take hold of one of her hands and noticed her bloody finger.

"What happened to yer finger, girl?"

Grace lifted her hand to look at it. The string had ripped off at least the top layer of skin she had on her index finger. It still throbbed horribly.

"The crossbow." Grace answered. "The string got my finger."

Daryl smirked. "Rule number one, honey. Don't ever put yer fingers in the path of the string."

"Yeah, I'll _definitely_ remember that next time!" She concurred, smiling.

She was so happy to know he was going to be all right. She tried to help him up but each time he moved he sucked in his breath with pain. She questioned if maybe he broke something.

"Naw," Daryl replied. "I don't think anything's broke - but my back right now sure don't like me none."

"Are you sure?" Grace asked as she quickly ran her hands all over him, checking for any wounds or broken bones. When she came to his lower torso she found a blood stain on his shirt.

Grace lifted up the shirt and shrieked at what she saw. Grace's mind rapidly raced back to that night in the campsite where her brother died. She shook her head slowly at first and then faster and faster as if she could shake away the sight of what she saw.

"No," She croaked. "No, no, no, no! NO!"

Daryl tried to lift his head to see. "What is it?"

"No!" Grace exclaimed, tears spilling over. "Oh God, Daryl. No!"

There on Daryl's hip was a deep scratch.

**Hopefully this chapter made sense; I'm not too good at writing "action" scenes. **


	11. Strength

Chapter Eleven: Strength

"Grace."

"No!"

"Gracie…honey…listen to me."

"No! No, no, no! Daryl, I can't do this…I can't go through this again!" Grace wailed uncontrollably over Daryl as she told him about his scratch.

"Hush, hush, girl." Daryl said, putting a finger to her lips. "Stop that ballin'."

But she couldn't. She only buried her head in his chest and cried. _I can't do this! I can't do this again! Why God, why?! Why?! Why do you take everyone I love?! Why?! Just take me already! If he goes; I'll go too._

Grace felt Daryl's arms wrap around her and squeeze her tight. She felt one of his hands in her hair, trying to soothe her.

"Grace," He whispered. "Calm down, sweetie. I don't even know if that's from that walker. I don't remember him gittin' me there. I know he had my ankle but…oh c'mon, Grace…take it easy."

Grace looked up at him, her face red and her eyes puffy. "What are we gonna do, Daryl?" She looked at him with begging eyes.

"We're gonna git back to the prison, that's what." He answered, confidently.

Grace only shook her head in disbelief. Maybe it wasn't a walker scratch. But what if it was? What then? How much time did they have before he started to turn? Sometimes it was only in a matter of minutes; sometimes longer. And it was on an area of the body that couldn't be sacrificed like a hand or a leg. Either way Grace didn't want to think about it. She couldn't go through with this again. She knew she was too weak to handle it.

"Gracie, honey." Daryl was saying to her now. "Listen to me. Yer gonna help me git up and we're gonna git back to the prison, OK? Ya might have to drag me all the way there, but you can do it. I know ya can. OK?"

Grace nodded, biting her lip.

"Good girl." Daryl said. "And yer gonna keep yer hand on that pistol ya got and if I turn - _do not _even think twice about it, OK? Just do it."

Grace shook her head so hard she felt her brain rocking around in her skull.

"No." She stated firmly. "No, no, no…"

"YES!" Daryl exclaimed. "Yes, Grace. Do as I say and don't fuss wit me. We don't have a lot of time. We gotta git goin' now!"

Grace gathered herself together and helped Daryl stand. As soon as he stood, she thought he was almost about to fall again so she led him over to a tree and had him lean against it for support while she went back to fetch their weapons and backpacks.

"No," He said. "Leave 'em. Grab the crossbow and let's go."

Grace obeyed. She snatched up the crossbow, slung it over one shoulder and slung Daryl's arm around her neck. She wrapped her arm around his waist to give him support. Just when she was about to lead the way, he spoke softly:

"Grace, I didn't mean what I said to ya."

She turned to meet his eyes that seemed to be filled with regret.

"Ya know, about what I said? About the whole "itch" and "scratch" thang. I didn't mean it. Honest to God, honey."

Grace blinked in response and she felt her heart flutter. "Really?"

"Yeah." Daryl said, sincere. "Really. I just said that to hurt ya. 'Cause of what you said…it got under my skin, ya know? And I just said that just to be ugly." He paused and swallowed. "It's not true."

Grace felt a smile creep across her face. _It wasn't true! It wasn't true! Maybe he does really care about me! Now is the time. I have to tell him. _

"Oh, Daryl…" Grace whispered. She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. "This probably is the wrong time and wrong place but…"

_But I may not have another chance to tell you…_

"I really, really like you, Daryl." Grace said. "I think…I think I might even…_love_ you."

Daryl's eyes widened a bit in surprise at Grace's confession but his face remained soft; no signs of panic like he did in the storm cellar. He opened his mouth to speak but Grace stopped him.

"I don't mean to put you on the spot," She said. "You don't have to say it to me. Don't say it to me unless you really mean it, OK? I just want you to know that…I love you."

Daryl mouth dropped open like he couldn't believe what he just heard. Almost like he had never heard anyone say that to him his whole life and Grace thought that could very well be a possibility.

Grace swallowed back some tears. She was so sick of crying; she wondered if she would ever cry herself out one of these days.

"Come on," She told him. "Let's go." And she gave him a nudge to start moving. He moved clumsily along, almost like he was trying to learn how to walk all over again. Grace struggled trying to support Daryl's weight and the height difference between them made it even more difficult for her to help maneuver him.

They ascended up the slope and over the hill. When they had reached the top Daryl told Grace to stop walking and he released himself from her and leaned over and vomited.

When he was through he practically fell into Grace for support and she caught him, barely, and pushed him up as hard as she could to get him stand and walk again.

With his arm around her neck and her hand around his waist, she guided him along, all the while he groaned and wheezed and seemed to be going in and out of consciousness.

"Daryl, do you want to stop for a minute and take a break?" Grace asked, concerned.

He shook his head firmly. "Must...keep…going." He barely breathed out the words.

Grace trudged along, through the wet woods, wondering if she was holding a dying man by her side. She thought of the scratch he had and she instantly wanted to cry once again but she shook her head.

_No! _She thought. _You have to be strong, Grace Montgomery. No more crying; it doesn't do any good. Crying didn't bring back Johnny, did it?! _

Grace glanced over at Daryl on her side and saw he was hanging his head in exhaustion but he was alive, even if barely.

_I gonna bring him back. _Grace told herself, sharply. _I'll fireman carry his ass all the way back to the prison if that's what it takes… If anybody or anything interferes…any walkers get in my way…God have mercy on their souls! _

Her free hand went to her revolver then and as she felt it she remembered she had used it to save Daryl. She had actually took it out and shot something with it and didn't even think twice about it. She had once told herself she would never ever use that gun; she told herself that the only reason she carried it was because it once belonged to the only family member she had left.

_"Sometimes ya gotta be stronger than ya ever thought ya could be, ya know? I know it's tuff but you just gotta hang in there. Ya a stronger girl than ya know. Trust me."_

At the time, Grace thought Daryl's little pep talk in the storm cellar was just that…a pep talk to make her feel better. But the memory of his words in her mind resonated with her more than ever.

_Yes, Daryl. I can be strong. I will be strong…if not for me; for you._

After what seemed like an eternity, Grace finally saw the top of the guard tower of the prison. She had never been more glad to see anything else in her life.

Daryl seemed to growing weaker and more unstable by the minute. As soon as they walked through the dense thicket toward the gate, Daryl collapsed.

"Oh no you don't, Mister!" Grace exclaimed at him despite knowing he was in no shape to respond.

Grace slid the crossbow off her back, set it down and positioned a wobbly Daryl behind her. She pulled his arms around her neck as far down as they would go and put his hands into a death grip. She bent at the knees and with a single heave lifted him on her back and began walking as fast she could with a grown man on her back who was approximately 160 pounds, give or take.

"Rick!" Grace called out. "Rick! Glenn! Maggie! _Somebody!_ _Anybody!_ It's me, Grace!"

She knew she shouldn't be making noise like that but she felt like she had to get somebody's attention quickly.

She was almost to the gate when she saw a figure running briskly toward them. It was Rick. Not far from behind him followed Glenn, Maggie and Carl.

Rick unlatched the gate, ushered her in and closed the gate. He removed Daryl from Grace's back and laid him on the ground.

"Good god, girl!" Rick exclaimed as he examined Daryl. "We were just about to come look for you two!"

Glenn, Maggie and Carl caught up beside them. They looked from Grace and then down to where Daryl lay.

"What happened to him?" Glenn asked Grace but the answer was soon revealed as Rick lifted up Daryl's shirt.

The couple and the young boy collectively gasped at the sight of the scratch while the former sheriff sighed deeply and shook his head.

"How long ago did this happen?" Rick asked in that authoritative, no-nonsense drawl of his.

"I don't know…" Grace puffed as she fell to the ground. She was so beat, so tired, and so scared for Daryl. "I think it's been…about fifteen to twenty minutes ago."

"We gotta get him inside." Rick stated. He looked to the others. "Glenn, help me carry him. Carl, go tell Hershel we need his help. Maggie, stay with Grace."

Grace watched as Rick and Glenn each took one of Daryl's arms and carried him into the prison. She huffed and puffed, trying to catch her breath, after shouldering all that weight. She thought of Daryl's scratch and felt the tears coming on. She didn't care this time. She had been as strong as she could. She could cry now.

A hand softly touched Grace's shoulder and she looked up to see Maggie crouching down beside her. She rubbed in a circular motion on Grace's back.

"Hey," Maggie said. "It's gonna be OK, Grace. Don't worry; you're home now."

Grace turned and pointed back toward the gate. "His crossbow…"

Maggie helped her stand and brushed back her hair. "Don't worry about it; we'll get it later. Come on; let's get you inside. Oh my god, girl, what happened to your finger?"

Grace explained what had happened in the ravine as she let Maggie lead her into the prison.


	12. Sweet On Her

**Note: This chapter is in Daryl's POV.**

**Thanks for all the reviews, follows, and favorites! :)**

Chapter Twelve: Sweet On Her

_Ugh…Oh God…Ugh…Shit…Ow!…Jesus! What happened?! Where the hell am I?!_

Daryl slowly came to on a bunk in a cell of the prison. His back still ached like crazy and he looked down to find himself shirtless with a gauze strapped on his hip with medical tape.

He put his head back down on the pillow and tried to remember what had happened in the last few days.

_Gone huntin'. Took Grace. There was a twister…found shelter…left shelter…the ravine… the walkers…walker tried to git me…Grace shot him…Grace helped me git up…Grace - Grace?… Oh my god, Grace!_

Everything flowed back to him: the failed hunting trip, the storm, the storm cellar and falling for Grace.

_Gracie Lou, honey… She saved me…She saved me from the biter...She kissed me…No, wait…I kissed her first…yeah…in the cellar….she kissed me back…she let me touch her...I freaked out…we fought…she hated me…but then she saved me…and she told me…she told me she loves me?!_

Daryl rubbed at his face as he tried to sort it all out.

_Where is she now? _He thought. _I have to find her. I have to talk to her…_

"Knock, knock," a male voice said into Daryl's cell followed by a knocking noise on the bars.

Daryl rose up to see who it was. Rick was there unlocking the door and letting himself in. Daryl slowly grinned at the sight of Rick and at the sound of his cowboy boots scuffing the floor. Rick held Daryl's crossbow in his hands and he placed it on the empty top bunk.

Daryl extended his arm out and let Rick slap his hand, a quick, tight squeeze followed, and then they let go.

"What's up, man?" Daryl asked, a little too casually. "How ya livin'?"

Rick chuckled and shook his head. "Man, I came to ask the same thing of _you_!"

He made a gesture to the bunk, silently asking if he could take a seat on the end, and Daryl nodded.

"I don't even know where to start -" Daryl began but Rick interrupted as he sat down.

"Grace told us about y'all's run-in with the walkers. She was so scared about the scratch."

"The scratch?" Daryl asked and then he looked down at the gauze and recalled of his fall down the slope.

"Yeah, you got a scratch." Rick said, looking down at the bandage as well. "But it's not from a walker, thank god. It's from falling down into that ravine. Hershel said it was probably from a root in the ground or a limb you rolled over. He also said that you got sick most likely from severe dehydration."

Rick paused for a minute and ran a hand through his hair. He seemed to be deep in thought about something and he smirked to himself.

Daryl raised an eyebrow. "What's so funny, cowboy?"

Rick waved him off. "Oh, nothing." He then he chuckled again.

"Speak up, man!" Daryl said as he playfully shoved Rick. "C'mon, now. Ya got somethin' funny to say - I wanna hear it."

Rick smiled and shook his head again. "OK, so…You know that both you and I…well, really it applies to everybody…but we both know we've seen some crazy shit in the last year or two, right?"

Daryl grunted, wondering where Rick was going with this. "Yeah? Go on."

"Well, despite everything I've seen…" Rick began. "I think this one takes the cake. We were just getting ready to go look for you two when I see this girl carrying a grown-ass man on her back - running as fast as she can toward the gate. That was Grace, Daryl. She had you on her back, man."

Daryl shot him an incredulous look. He didn't remember that. "Are you shittin' me, man?!"

Rick laughed and shook his head. "No way, man! I'm serious. She had you slung up around her like you was a solider hit on the battlefield. She wasn't playin' around, that's for sure. I know I shouldn't laugh at her…she was so scared for you, Daryl…bless her heart. But the sight of it was…kinda funny and kinda…almost _unlike_ her, you know what I mean?"

Daryl only blinked in response to his friend.

"I mean, you remember when we first met Grace, right?" Rick continued. "Remember in that campsite? She was with her brother and some other folks at the time. Then the place got attacked and her brother died….My heart broke for her, man. Really, it did. And then Lori…Lori came up to me said: 'Rick, baby. We have to take her with us. She's got nobody else.' I didn't want to…I mean, I felt like I already had enough people to look out for. But then Grace promised she wouldn't be any trouble…and she hasn't been. She's been great…she does pull her own weight."

Rick paused and took a deep breath and went on:

"But in the back of my mind I always worried about her, you know? I always felt like she was unstable…she was too fragile…too _weak _to carry on. One day she told me: 'Rick, thank you for taking me in. I'm glad you did because I feel like y'all know what you're doing. I feel safe with you people. I feel like you guys are _strong _and I know I'm not.'"

Daryl sat there taking in Rick's words about Grace and knew the former cop was right. Grace had been so fragile when she joined their group, she did her best to try to hide it, but often times her fear would show through. Daryl remembered then that in the beginning days with Grace as a group member, he had thought, morbidly, that she would most likely be the next one to go.

He had thought that Grace was just too nice, too sweet to keep on living in this world…she hadn't hardened quick enough like everybody else. He thought for sure she'd end up walker chow or she'd take that .38 of hers and end it all herself. But in the course of the last two days; she had proved him wrong considerably. And now, obviously, she had also proved Rick wrong as well as the others.

"Grace told us y'all rode out that storm the other night." Rick was saying to Daryl now. "Said y'all found a storm cellar by some church."

Daryl nodded. "Yeah."

He wondered exactly _how much _Grace had told the group about their time together in the storm cellar but Daryl didn't pick up hints of suspicion of Rick's face so he figured she had kept that part quiet.

"Yeah," Daryl answered again. "We got us a doe but then these walkers showed up. Then it started pourin' down on us and we headed back here…but somehow we got our directions mixed up…the storm was too close…We had to git somewhere quick. Grace saw this church out the open. Said she knew there was storm cellar there 'cause it was like her old one back home."

Even though he had spent the last two days with the girl; Daryl realized he missed Grace then just by talking about her. He missed seeing her follow behind him in the woods, missed seeing her throw those knives like nobody else's business, missed hearing her soft sweet drawl, missed running his hands through her hair. Hell, he even missed fussing with her.

"Where is she now?" Daryl asked Rick, who was still sitting at the end of the bunk looking deep in thought as he dug out dirt from underneath his fingernails.

"Grace?" asked Rick, still concentrating on cleaning his nails. "Last I checked she was getting some rest in her cell. Hershel said he was surprised she didn't get sick from dehydration like you did as long as y'all went without water. He fixed up her finger as best as he could. Said if she would have been any more late in moving her finger outta the way of your crossbow string - it would have took her finger clean off."

Rick looked up at Daryl then and smiled. "And I can't believe that she actually used your crossbow. Or at least _tried_ to anyway…Man, I just can't believe it..."

Rick paused and leaned in toward Daryl and lowered his voice. "It just blows my mind, you know? The girl _really_ grew a pair, you know what I mean? Excuse my French, but you know it's true."

All Daryl could do was laugh along with Rick. He chuckled as he remembered what he had said to Grace in the storm cellar that night.

"Yeah well, maybe somebody once told her that sometimes you gotta be stronger than ya think ya ever could be." Daryl said.

"Amen to that, brother," Rick concurred and a moment of silence he said:

"Grace was so worried about you yesterday. I mean, we were all worried about you, of course. But she was just beside herself. She kept saying: 'Oh please, please, let him be OK! I don' t know what I'll do if he dies.'"

Rick paused and shook his head. He looked up at Daryl and chuckled. "Gosh, if I didn't know any better I'd say the young lady's sweet on you, Daryl."

Rick laughed again and tossed his head as if the possibility of it was utterly ridiculous.

Daryl felt himself tense up and suddenly become a little nervous.

_Yes, Rick..._Daryl thought. _Grace is sweet on me…And she's sweet all over….Sweet like a chocolate moon pie and a RC Cola…Wait…What the hell?! Did I really just compare a girl to a moon pie and a soda pop?! Oh hell, what's happened to you, Dixon?! You like her; that's what….You're sweet on her too._

Daryl took a deep breath and without letting himself dwell on it too long, so he wouldn't have time to change his mind, he decided to tell Rick what had happened with Grace. He knew if there was anybody he could confide in, it was Rick.

"Grace told me that she loves me, Rick." Daryl blurted out and suddenly it seemed like his voice echoed in the small space. He prayed nobody else was within an earshot of the cell.

Rick only blinked his eyes at first and then slowly tilted his head to one side. "She said…_what?!_" His mouth fell open.

"You heard me, man." Daryl said, looking into his leader's light blue eyes. "She said she loves me. She said it after I took that spill down the ravine. When I tore up my back and couldn't stand up…she was helping me walk…and she looked over at me and told me she loves me."

Rick remained speechless for a few more seconds and then shook his head as if to snap out of the shock of the news. As Rick took some time to let the information soak in, Daryl knew he was leaving out a huge chunk of the story of what led Grace to say that to him. He just didn't know how to bring that part up to the sheriff.

"Well, you know," Rick began, still a little perplexed. He ran his hand through his brownish-graying slicked back hair.

"It could have been…It could have been because Grace thought you were dying, Daryl." Rick suggested. "She thought you were dying and you know how people say all sorts of stuff when they think they're about to die or somebody around them is about to die…I mean, well, you know how it is...She probably just got emotional and that's what came out."

Rick nodded to himself at first, as if he was silently agreeing with himself that he had said the right thing and then looked to Daryl for concurrence.

"That was probably why she said that," Rick said. "I mean, nothing else happened between you two to make her think otherwise, did it?" And he chuckled again at the notion that the scruffy redneck and the shy teenager could be anything more than just friends.

Daryl quickly adverted his eyes down to his hands in his lap and he began to twist them together nervously. He felt his heart beat faster and his cheeks flush and he wondered if Rick could see him blushing even in the perpetual darkness of the prison.

He carefully lifted his eyes back up to face Rick, who was now staring at him quizzically. Rick's grin slowly disappeared off his face.

"Nothing happened between you two, right Daryl?" Rick asked again, this time more pressing.

All Daryl could do was shrug his shoulders.

"Oh my god!" Rick exclaimed. "Oh my god, Daryl! Are you serious?!"

Daryl shot Rick a dirty look. "Shh…" He whispered hoarsely, putting a finger up to his lips. "Keep it down! Don't need the whole group to know…"

Rick was aghast. "You're just messin' with me, right man?" He said as he leaned in and lowered his voice.

"It wasn't what ya think it was," Daryl began to explain himself. He paused and then scratched his head.

"Well, what happened was…we were in that storm cellar. We had just gotten into it…had some words with each other. Then she got all bent out of shape and started cryin' and man, I hate it when women cry…I can't stand it! Anyway, yeah, so I calmed her down and then she starts tellin' me how scared she is…how she feels bad for the walkers…how she doesn't feel like she's strong enough, ya know."

Daryl went on to explain to Rick how he comforted Grace and how they lay there that night talking about the days before the outbreak and about how he had laid on that cold, hard cellar floor and listened to the girl talk about her family and her friends and the more he listened the more he wanted to just crawl in the cot with her and hold her. And kiss her.

"I tried to fight it for as long as I could, Rick." Daryl said. "Grace kept on saying: 'Oh, why don't ya come up here in the cot with me'. It was almost like she knew what she was doing; like she was trying to tempt me. I kept on saying no. But after awhile, I couldn't take it anymore, man. Not only did the floor kill my back but…"

Daryl paused and bit his lip. "But I just…I just…_wanted_ her, ya know? Not in a "wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am" kind of want but in a real, true…want. Ya know what I mean?"

Rick nodded slowly in response and by the misty look in his eyes, Daryl could tell he was probably remembering Lori.

"So yeah, we got to be kissin'." continued Daryl. "I asked to kiss her first. And she said yes, man! I thought for sure she was gonna yell 'rape!' or slap me or somethin'...but she said yes. After that she told me: 'You can kiss me again. If you want to.' And I swear to God, Rick, I knew it…I _knew_ it right then and there when she said that…that she wanted me too. I knew she musta been sweet on me for awhile, ya know. And I shoulda of stopped it right there. I _knew_ I shouldn't have led her on…but I just couldn't stop myself."

Rick sat on the edge of the bunk bed, slightly bent over, his hands clasped together hanging between his legs. He would nod his head every once in awhile to let Daryl know he was listening.

"So how far did you go?" Rick asked, quietly.

Daryl smirked at the question. "Wouldn't ya like to know?" He teased but Rick looked over at him, sternly.

"I would like to know, Daryl." Rick said, firm. "I would like to know if there's another…another '_Lil Ass-Kicker _on the way or not."

Daryl scoffed and waved the sheriff off with both hands to dismiss the idea completely.

"Oh, for Christ's sake, Rick!" He said, slightly annoyed that Rick had to be so serious all the time. "Good god, no! I may be an ignorant old country boy but I sure as shit ain't dumb. We didn't have sex: girl's a virgin."

And as soon as he spoke that last part, Daryl immediately wanted to kick himself for blurting that out like that. _Why am I always sticking my goddamn foot in my mouth?! _

Rick's eyes first widened a bit and then slowly narrowed to blue slits. He turned on the cop glare he was so good at and seemed to be asking based on his expression alone: And how did you find _that_ out?!

Then Daryl wondered if maybe Rick's reaction was due to the fact that he now had a daughter of his own and probably couldn't help but be protective.

"Well, Daryl," Rick said, as he slowly begun to relax. "Wow. Just wow. That's all I can say, man."

Daryl grunted. "That's more than I can say about the whole thing."

"Well?" Rick asked.

Daryl shrugged impatiently. "Well what?"

"Do _you _love her?"

Daryl took a breath and exhaled. Nobody his whole life had ever told him that they loved him. Not his mother, sure as hell not his father, and not even Merle even though Daryl knew that they had their ways of communicating that to each other even though neither brother had actually spoken the words out loud. He realized that he himself never once told any girl or anybody else that he loved them.

"Well, let me put it this way…Do you _like_ her?" Rick rephrased the question.

_Do I like her? _Daryl thought. _Well, let's see: I like her sweet face and her soft hair…I like how she looks and acts like a total Barbie girl but chucks knives around like a ninja…I like being surprised by hearing four letter words roll of her tongue…I like how she isn't afraid to say what's on her mind…I like her random off-key rendition of "Georgia On My Mind"…I like how she's somehow managed to remain tender in a callous dog-eat-dog world…I like how…I like how she let me kiss her…how she let me touch her…hold her._

"Yeah, Rick." Daryl said now. "I do like her. I like her more than she'll ever know."

He paused and looked down at his hands and began to chew on his fingernails.

"She also told me I didn't have to say it back to her…ya know, the 'I love you' thing. Said not to say it to her unless I meant it."

Rick rose to stand and stretched out his arms. "That's probably a good idea." He said. "Hey, at least she took some of the pressure off, right? But you know what? She'll still want to hear it from you. Women…They always want to hear the "L" word from a guy. Always."

Rick turned to leave; he opened the cell door, stepped outside the bars, and closed the door to its loud metal clank.

"I gotta get back." Rick said through the bars. "My turn for watch. You take it easy, man." He paused and looked down at his feet and then back up at Daryl.

"I think you already know if you love her or not…You just gotta decide when to tell her, if you're going to."

Rick nodded a good-bye as he went to leave and then he stopped just pass the bars. Despite Rick being out of Daryl's view, he could still hear Rick's voice:

"By the way, Daryl…you do realize you're like… twice her age, right?"

Daryl laughed. "Yeah, no shit, smokey!"

"All right, man. I'm just saying…"

Daryl flopped his head back down on the pillow as he listened to the sound of Rick's boots walk away.

_"I think you already know if you love her or not…You just gotta decide when to tell her, if you're going to." _Rick's words repeated in Daryl's mind.

_OK, then._ Daryl thought. _I'm gonna tell her…very soon…_


	13. Georgia Rain

Chapter Thirteen: Georgia Rain

After about a week had passed since their excursion in the woods and the night in the storm cellar, Grace began to believe that she had been right about what she thought would happen next between herself and Daryl: absolutely nothing.

He had taken about a day or two to recover and then he was back to work: going out to hunt (this time, solo), harvesting wild game, tinkering with his motorcycle, keeping watch, and helping Rick and the other men do whatever needed to be done.

At dinner time, Daryl would always stand up while eating, aloof, from the table. It was nothing new but Grace couldn't help but wonder if it was because of her. She would glance up at him from time to time but he never seemed to look her way. One time they did make eye contact and the two of them both slightly jerked simultaneously, a move that undoubtedly went unnoticed by the others.

Grace had a hunch that the others were on to them.

One day when Grace helped Beth with the baby, Carl wandered by and watched the two girls give Judith a diaper change. When he looked at Grace, Carl curiously asked her how she got "those marks" on her neck. Confused, Grace found a mirror and there, where her neck met her collarbone, were little purple bruises: hickeys from when Daryl had kissed her neck. When Grace came back, Carl was gone, but she saw Beth and Maggie standing together in a corner. They were looking in her direction, snickering with each other and talking in hushed whispers.

While doing laundry with Carol, Grace chatted along idly with the older woman, but somehow Carol always led the conversation back to the day of the storm.

"It must have been rough being out there in a storm like that," Carol said.

"It was scary." Grace answered, folding a shirt. "But Daryl took good care of me - of us." Grace felt her cheeks flush at her gaffe.

Carol smiled. "I'm sure he did, my dear." She bent over to pick up another garment to wash. "I'm sure he did."

Out of her peripheral vision Grace could see Carol tossing curious, side-long glances at her as if she was trying to figure her out.

Then there were the times at dinner when Grace would catch Rick's stares, in which he would smile cordially at her and then look down at his plate, grinning wildly, shaking his head, and covering his mouth with his hand as if he was desperately trying to cover up laughter about something.

Grace wanted to see Daryl again, she was dying to talk to him, but there was either no privacy to do so or every time she found him alone, he would scurry off to go busy himself with anything but her.

_It's like he has a built-in "Grace" monitor now. _Grace thought one night, lying on her back in her bunk bed with her arms tucked behind her head.

_I get within a five feet radius of him; the "alarm" goes off and he makes like a banana and splits!_

Grace curled up in the fetal position then, bringing her knees up as close to her chest as she possibly could.

_I never should have told him that I love him…I bet that's what scared him off…Did I just say that because I was so frightened that he was gonna die?_

Grace shook her head at the thought.

_No. Well, yes and no... I was scared for him…but I do love him…and I know I shouldn't expect him to say it back…I know we barely know each other...But I just want to hear from him that I mean something to him…I know he said he was sorry about the "itch" and "scratch" comment and I think he was being sincere…but I just want to hear it from him…I want him to tell me he loves me too….even if that is unrealistic._

The next day, Grace was on watch in the guard tower by herself. She enjoyed being up there, looking out across the field at the pine trees and she liked the view despite the sight a few walkers shuffling around out there. The sky was overcast, like it was the day she went hunting with Daryl, but the clouds were not ominous. Soon a light, cool rain began to fall and a soft thunder rolled. Grace was glad to see the rain again for its ability to give them a break from the heat.

"At ease, sold-jer ."

Even though the voice came from behind her, Grace knew that backwoods drawl from anywhere. A smile crept across her face as she turned around and saw Daryl standing there. He was dressed in his usual attire, winged vest and crossbow on his back . In his hands, oddly, was a honeysuckle vine with white blossoms dangling from his fingertips.

He grinned and did a mock salute. Grace tilted her head to one side, confused.

"Oh, ya know." Daryl explained. "Since ya carried me outta the line of fire the way ya did."

Grace thought for a moment and then smiled as she remembered and laughed at his joke. Somebody must have told Daryl about her fireman-carrying him to the gate.

"Yeah," Grace chuckled, shaking her head at herself. "I must have looked so ridiculous."

"It's awlright," Daryl replied, still smiling. "I can't thank ya enuff, ya know."

Grace shrugged casually. "Aw, well…I had to, you know? I couldn't just stand there and cry about it like I do everything else."

Daryl nodded. "You were strong, Grace. I told ya you could do it." He paused, glanced down at his feet and then back up at Grace.

"I'm proud of ya, girl." He told her. "Everybody's proud of ya. Don't know if anybody said that to ya or not but it's true. Hell, even Rick was blown away." Daryl nodded again, to confirm it was the truth.

All Grace could do was smile and shrug. She turned and rested her arms on the railing and looked out over the land.

"Yeah, I guess sometimes you got to be stronger than you ever thought you could be." She paused and looked over at him. "Somebody told me that once." She added, with a smile.

Daryl flashed another grin at her and Grace then realized how rare it was to see him smile like that. _He should smile more often. _She thought. _Even though there's not a lot to smile about these days._

Grace turned around and leaned backwards on the railing of the guard tower. She watched Daryl who was fidgeting with the honeysuckle vine in his fingers.

"Daryl?" Grace asked.

He looked up. "Hmm?"

Grace shot a look down at the honeysuckle in his hands and then back up to him.

He looked down, saw the vine in his hands, and let out a nervous laugh.

"Oh, yeah, right." He stammered. He shifted anxiously from foot to foot. Grace couldn't help but notice how sheepish he was being all of the sudden and wondered what he was up to.

Daryl took a few steps forward and held out the vine. He apparently had made a necklace for her.

"This is for you," He said as he approached her and slipped the vine over her head and around her neck.

Grace reached up and touched one of the white blossoms on the vine and lifted it to her nose. She inhaled the sweet, delicate scent and it immediately made her remember home: riding around with Johnny in his truck with the windows down and smelling the honeysuckle that would cling along the fence post on the side of the road.

"I know it's not much," Daryl was saying to Grace. He ran a hand through his hair. "It's nuthin' special and…and I hope ya don't mind - I drank some dew outta some of them blooms - I gotta little thirsty on my way up here…that's why some of them are gone but yeah…I just wanted to give ya a little thank you present."

Grace smiled at him and without thinking reached up and touched her hand to one side of his face.

"Thanks, Daryl." Grace whispered. He took her hand in his and then noticed the makeshift cast Hershel had constructed for Grace's skinned finger. Daryl gently rubbed his thumb across her injured finger.

"Hershel said it would take awhile for the skin to grow back," Grace said as she looked down at her finger.

"But it's gonna be OK. I just have to make sure I keep it clean." Grace chuckled softly. "Guess I'm not going to be a crossbow hunter anytime soon, huh?"

Daryl looked up at Grace then but he still held her hand in his, his thumb still caressing her hurt finger.

"I can show ya sometime if ya want." He answered, and slowly grinned. "But next time - let's not go out in a twister, OK?"

Grace only laughed and turned back around and leaned on the railing. She had just begun to accept that while Daryl appreciated her help in getting him back to the prison and that he was truly sorry for the cruel things he had said to her; he still had no intentions of having a romantic relationship with her. She wasn't going to bring it up anymore and she wasn't going to make him talk about it no matter how much she wanted him to. She really expected him to leave at this point but he surprised her by walking over and leaning on the railing with her.

They quietly watched the rain fall and listened to the drops splatter on everything it came in contact with. Grace look out over the land; her hand on her neck playing gently with the honeysuckle necklace. Daryl rested his arms over the railing, his fingers clasped together, his head slightly bent.

"Gracie," Daryl spoke softly but did not raise his head. "Honey…I know I've been avoidin' ya lately and well…it's because -"

"It's OK, Daryl." Grace interjected still looking out over the land. "I understand…I'll learn to let it go. I'll do what you said - I'll forget all about it and won't say anything to anybody."

Daryl raised his head then, took his arms off the rail and stared at Grace eagerly. Grace saw the seriousness on his face; the sincerity in his blue eyes.

"No, Grace," He said as he came toward her and surprised her by carefully sliding his hands up her arms and bringing her in to an embrace. Grace felt her mouth open but no words came out.

"Lemme do the talkin'," Daryl said. "So…I've been thinkin'…I've been thinkin' a lot o'er the last couple of days…_a lot _more thinkin' than I normally do…but yeah, anyway…I, um…been thinkin' about the time we spent together…and how we got to know each other better…and um…god, I'm no good at this!"

Grace could only smile and stare at Daryl in awe as he struggled to find the words he was looking for.

_He's gonna say it! _Grace thought, excitedly, but she bit her lip and held her composure.

Daryl took a deep breath and began again:

"I've been thinkin' about how ya told me you love me and all…and it kind of freaked me out, to be truthful with ya…Nobody ever said that to me before and I've never said it to nobody neither…I've been thinkin' about how much of an idiot I was…it was stupid of me to kiss ya…it was stupid of me to…put my hands on ya like I did…I never meant to lead ya on, Gracie Lou. And I never meant to hurt ya either - with them words I said to ya…I guess it goes back to that the day in the storm…I was just tryin' to protect ya, ya know? I didn't wanna git yer hopes up and then have to crush ya like June bug hittin' a windshield."

Grace felt a wave of sadness come over her but she wasn't sure if she should cry or laugh at what he was saying. The good ole boy certainly had a way with words.

"I had also been thinkin' about…" Daryl continued on. "Been thinkin' about everything that's wrong wit this picture…you and me…I'm old enough to be yer daddy, truth to be told…And well, I guess age ain't nuthin but a number… but still the fact is - I'm old; you ain't…and that can complicate things, ya know? Been thinkin' about how _everything_ is complicated these days and you and me both know the last thing we need is another headache…and there's what could happen to you or me…well, anybody, really, but…nuthin is guaranteed anymore, Grace. It's all jacked-up."

He stopped talking and raised his eyebrows as if to ask her if she understood him so far, especially that last part, and Grace nodded.

Grace could feel her heart sinking; she had thought he had come to tell her he loved her but it sounded like he was trying to tell her they were better off as companions. She lowered her head but he took her chin and raised her head back up to look at him.

"But then…" He sighed deeply. "But then I also got be thinkin' - ya know what? _Fuck it_. What's another jacked-up thing to this world, anyway?! Ain't nobody gonna give a damn and if they do - it's their problem; not ours."

Grace thought she didn't hear him correctly. Her mouth fell open again and her eyes widened. _Is he saying what I think he's saying?! _She thought.

Her mind was quickly put to rest when Daryl took Grace fully in his arms and held her tighter.

"I love ya too, Gracie Lou." Daryl whispered, as he stroked back her hair. He squeezed her tight as he leaned in and kissed her full on the mouth. Grace let her arms wrap around his neck like she had done that night in the storm cellar and pulled him closer to her.

As they kissed, Grace felt the honeysuckles being crushed by Daryl's body pressing up against hers. The combination of aromas: fresh, crisp rainfall and sweet, sweet honeysuckle hung in the air and lingered in Grace's mind. She knew she would never smell honeysuckle again without thinking of this moment or of Daryl.

Daryl then started to plant kisses on Grace's face and neck, rubbing his whiskers on her skin, making her giggle like she did in the cot that night.

"You make me feel like I'm sixteen all over again," He murmured against her ear.

"And you make me feel…" Grace trailed off, unsure of how to describe it. "You make me feel so many things…so many things I thought I'd never get the chance to feel."

He went back to kissing her on her mouth then.

When they broke the kiss, a few petals from the honeysuckles floated off the necklace, some landing on the floor of the tower, some blowing out into the open.

"Aw, hell…You ruined yer necklace," Daryl said, still holding Grace in his arms. "Took me a whole…five minutes to make that for ya." He grinned and Grace giggled at his teasing.

"Listen, uh, Grace," Daryl said. "I gotta tell ya: Rick knows about us. He came to my cell and we got to be talkin' and I needed somebody to talk to and he was there. I hope ya don't mind none; I'm sure he won't tell."

Grace scoffed. "Well, _that_ explains why he keeps looking at me the way he does at dinner!" She laughed and said: "Nah, I trust Rick, too. He won't tell anybody."

_He won't have to tell with the way the others are catching on… _She thought, amused.

She reached up and gently ran her fingers through his hair all the while still keeping her eyes on his, not wanting to look away, never wanting to look away.

He took her hand in his, brought to his lips and kissed it. He continued to hold her hand as he spoke:

"Whenever ya wanna tell e'm…it'll be OK. I don't really care anymore and I don't think they's gonna care neither..well, maybe they might…hell, I don't know but I _know _I don't care -"

Grace put a finger on Daryl's lips to hush him. "Relax, Daryl. It's OK…we don't have to tell 'em anything right away… and they're smart folks…I'm sure they can figure it out for themselves."

She gave him a sly grin and added: "Let's let 'em guess for awhile, eh?"

Daryl smiled. "I can do that."

Grace leaned in and kissed him again. They stood there, lips locked and arms around each other, with the sound of gentle rain falling and the scent of honeysuckle lingering in the air.

They took it slow, not only when they released each other and climbed down out of the tower to walk back inside the prison, but with each other - one day at a time. They kept their budding romance quiet, as they agreed to, and let the others in the group gradually discover it on their own. It was accepted neither with celebration or condemnation but with an overall mutual understanding.

Sometimes Grace wanted speed things up with Daryl; she had a desire to finish what they had started in the storm cellar that night; a desire to have a passionate love affair like Glenn and Maggie but ultimately she was satisfied with the pace they were going. Grace told herself even though the world was what it was now: hurried, fickle, act-now-think-later; she was glad to have something that was steady, deliberate, one-step-at-a-time. Even though nothing was guaranteed anymore; anything and everything could change at a blink of an eye; at least his and hers love for one another would remain constant, unchanging - kind of like the Georgia rain.

The End.

**First of all - OMG, I ****_actually_**** finished a story! Honestly, that never happens. :P**

**Lots and lots of thank yous and kisses to everybody that reviewed, followed, and favorited this story. Thanks for taking the time to read it and give feedback - it really means a lot to me.**

**I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. :)**


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